


New muses, old pains

by schreibzumlesen



Series: New muses, old pains [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Dom/sub Undertones, Eventual Romance, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Misunderstandings, Public Humiliation, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:27:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 22,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22324045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schreibzumlesen/pseuds/schreibzumlesen
Summary: Geralt is hired to tame an unruly noble. He doesn't expect someone like Jaskier.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: New muses, old pains [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1894315
Comments: 604
Kudos: 1240





	1. Chapter 1

It is winter, with the land all bleak, washed-out and frozen and the sky wide and grey above his head. The contracts are meagre and so is Geralt’s coin, leaving him only some bites of stale bread in his bags but nothing that truly fights the hunger that is persistently gnawing on his bones. He can sense that Roach is exhausted as well, that her head hangs lower than usual.

“We’ll find something,” he mumbles and pets her neck.

Dawnbury, a small town in the east, stretches out before them and Geralt promises Roach some good hay and a warm stable; surely somebody in that damn place has to be in some kind of danger. Monsters might be his profession but Geralt is close to making an exception and accepting contracts for human beasts, too, if that means a full meal and a few hours of peaceful sleep.

Once he scans the notice board in Dawnbury though, he only finds offers for stable hands, announcements regarding trade and the weekly market. Nothing of interest for him and yet he cannot deny Roach some comfort after weeks of travelling. The inn he chooses has a small stable nearby and soon she finds the hay in there more appealing than Geralt’s company. His last coin went into having a roof over his head for the upcoming night so he doesn’t bother trying to organize food for himself.

When he gets back from the stable and opens the door to the inn again, Geralt’s thoughts focus instead on the bed that he could actually afford.

To be fair, he had worse days.

“Witcher!”

But he also had better days. Geralt eyes the man that is approaching him warily. He seems as suspicious as Geralt himself and his clothes are warm and well-tailored; a nobleman of low rank perhaps, or a rich merchant, but then again Geralt doesn’t care. If this ends in a fight, he will simply find another city with better contracts.

“I have work for you.”

Or he might stay here.

* * *

“I am not a nursemaid,” Geralt grits out between his teeth at the ridiculous offer.

The viscount glances at his advisor who has searched Geralt out. “I don’t know what Briar told you, Witcher, but my son is pure chaos. If he is not controlled then he will ruin this city and land, let alone the people. He cannot tell the difference between right and wrong, which will inevitably lead to our downfall.”

“Not my problem.” Geralt has no intention of restraining and disciplining some spoiled and cruel noble. Even he has limits, and this is just too much.

“I will pay you well,” the viscount adds but Geralt has already turned around, no patience for the man’s inability to control his own offspring.

“At least consider it!”

Geralt will not.

The way down from the manor back to town is long and before long darkness settles around him. Geralt tries to ignore his hunger and thinks of Roach, returns to his lack of food, knows he needs a new girth for his saddle and almost wishes for some drowners or a werewolf. Shit.

Fuck it.

He needs the money and whipping a bit of sense into an irresponsible youth isn’t a hard task.

He will adapt.


	2. Chapter 2

“What do you want me to do?”

A part of Geralt still cannot believe that he actually went back to the manor to accept the contract, but he knows that this is his best option, and the easiest one as well.

“Take him in hand, make sure that he recognizes and fulfils his duties.” The viscount pauses for a moment. “You have my permission to make use of physical punishments should Julian choose to be… difficult. I expect it shouldn’t take longer than a couple of weeks for my son to see the error of his ways – that is, with your guidance.”

Guidance. That is certainly one way of wording it, and not one that Geralt would’ve chosen.

He will have to rely on his reputation as Butcher and as slayer of monsters, since any other approach doesn’t really suit him. At least he won’t have to play the kind and understanding mentor, which is a slight comfort.

“Where can I find him?”

At this, the viscount actually laughs. “Trust me, Witcher, if I knew I would tell you. But I’m afraid you have to search for him yourself. I suggest the taverns.”

So not only is his son disobedient and deceitful, but he also seems to have a problem with alcohol. In Geralt’s eyes that makes the task more difficult because drunk people tend to be violent people, especially when they’re around his kind.

“Hm.” Geralt takes a deep breath. “I want half of the payment in advance. And a dry place for my horse when I’m here.”

The viscount nods. “I’ll see to that.”

Given that it is winter, Geralt has the advantage of long nights in his side and it doesn’t need his unique senses and abilities to find the place in town where various taverns, inns and brothels create an atmosphere of friskiness and exaggeration. Geralt dislikes it almost immediately but nonetheless he steps into one of the taverns and takes a seat at one of the few empty tables.

The sour smell of ale and sweat surrounds him and despite the weeks of starving himself, Geralt thinks he can endure another night of hunger.

Near him, a young man picks up a lute and starts playing while Geralt lets his eyes wander over the room. The general noise in the tavern drowns out most of the lyrics of the bard’s song but Geralt can still make out enough to know that the man apparently never saw any of the creatures he describes in person. If Geralt were somebody else he might feel offended or amused at these depictions but he’s not and so he just shifts his focus to a group of burly men that play arm wrestling games. He assumes that the son of the viscount might not be intelligent enough to hide his identity, and, after all, Geralt has made the experience that some noble men and women don’t always have to think for themselves.

Faintly, he’s aware that the music has stopped but it’s still unexpected when the young man who played the lute suddenly sits down on the empty chair across from Geralt and smiles at him.

“Well hello, handsome stranger. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here before… What brings you to Dawnbury?”

He neither seems like a threat nor like the man Geralt searches and Geralt keeps his eyes on the group of men who started to chant some kind of drinking song.

“I’m looking for someone.”

“Ah, how exciting.” The bard claps his hands together. “Who is it? I’m Jaskier, by the way.”

Geralt shifts his gaze onto him. Jaskier is young, probably the right age, so he could have information. “The viscount’s son. Julian.”

“Julian… Yes, right. Right.” Jaskier laughs and Geralt considers leaving to avoid this conversation. The more the bard talks, the more Geralt is sure that he won’t be useful for him. “Yeah no, I’ve never met this Julian guy, sorry. What does he look like?”

“I don’t know.”

“That might become a bit of a problem, don’t you think?”

Geralt glares at him but Jaskier’s smile doesn’t waver. Maybe he’s just too foolish to realise how dangerous Geralt can be, or perhaps his vision of Witchers is as inaccurate as his understanding of other non-human creatures.

“I’ll find him,” Geralt says. It wasn’t supposed to sound like a threat but Jaskier nervously licks his lips and Geralt can make out the sharp and acid scent of fear.

“Good luck with that, I suppose. He must be somewhere… just not here. I mean, if he would be in this room then I’m sure somebody would have noticed. And then you would know. So… he can’t be here.”

“Hm.” Geralt stands up and turns to leave. He’ll continue his search in another tavern, preferably one without chatty musicians.

Jaskier stands, too. “Pleasure to meet you, handsome stranger, but I’m afraid I must go as well. My horse… needs its… soup. Farewell.” He’s out of the door even before Geralt, leaving his lute by the table in his haste.

In any case, Geralt can rule him out as the possible mark of his hunt. Jaskier simply seems too incompetent to be of noble descent and even a frail old woman could tame him if he were her son. That Geralt doesn’t have to be in his company again is almost a relief.


	3. Chapter 3

His further search isn’t very successful, but Geralt can be patient and Dawnbury and its surrounding land isn’t big enough to hide from his eyes forever. The only information he gathers is that the viscount’s son supposedly has brown hair and blue eyes and that he enjoys music, which holds true for far too many young men in town. Geralt suspects that Julian is smarter than he initially believed him to be, and while Geralt wants to leave as fast as possible, he doesn’t oppose some days of quiet and rest, in which he can mend and repair his gear and weapons. Roach certainly likes the stable at the inn and Geralt appreciates not being out in the cold as well.

However, this peaceful time doesn’t last for long. On the third day of his stay in Dawnbury, Geralt receives an invitation for a banquet at the manor, written in a clear tone with little room for refusal. The good thing to this order is the prospect of free food, and besides, Geralt doesn’t think that he has much of a choice in this matter. Most likely, this is just an attempt of introducing him to his new charge and not a thinly-veiled plan to murder him.

Still, on the evening of the banquet, Geralt doesn’t bother to clean his boots or comb his hair. The viscount doesn’t pay him for these efforts and once Geralt has the chance to… talk to Julian about his failures, the boy won’t care either.

When he arrives at the manor it is late, probably later than it is acceptable, but at least this saves Geralt from tiresome gossip and irritating questions.

Geralt glares at the guards and then at the majority of the guests who suddenly become quiet after he enters the hall and his name is announced. The viscount, though, gives him a strained smile and makes a vague gesture towards the only empty chair at the table, near him and next to an awfully familiar face.

It seems like somebody has played him, which doesn’t exactly improve Geralt’s mood.

“Take a seat, Witcher. Let me introduce you to my son,” the viscount says with a glance at the young man next to him.

Geralt moves towards the empty chair but Jaskier doesn’t look up and deliberately keeps his eyes on what appears to be chicken on his plate, poking it reluctantly with his fork. A part of Geralt is almost impressed that the damn bard – no, not a bard, he corrects himself, that little shit – has managed to lie to him but then he remembers Jaskier’s strange excuse from days ago and Geralt is once again sure that the man has more luck than brains.

“Jaskier, isn’t it?” he asks when sits down but Jaskier stubbornly focuses on his meal.

The viscount grunts and shakes his head. “So you’ve met Julian before? And that ridiculous persona of his?”

“It is quite… convincing,” Geralt replies.

“Oh, I’m sure it is. It takes up a lot of Julian’s time so he must have perfected it by now.”

“Hm.” Geralt glances to his left and to his surprise Jaskier stares right back at him this time.

“I’m terribly sorry, father, for having found my true calling in life. Clearly I must be punished for my sinful existence.”

Fuck, Geralt doesn’t have the tolerance for the kind of drama unfolding in front of him. He takes a long drink of his wine.

“You cannot escape your duties forever, Julian, I think I made that clear. And if not, then your new mentor can without doubt emphasize it again.”

At this, Jaskier looks at Geralt and like before at the tavern, there is a sliver of sharp fear in the air. “I must be a hopeless case then, if you hire the Butcher of Blaviken for this task. You know, maybe I will be lucky and he will kill me on accident – or on purpose, or… well, else. Having no son would be one solution to your troubles.”

“It certainly would be.”

In the following silence Jaskier and his father stare at each other, one shocked and speechless and the other determined not to give in.

Geralt isn’t in the mood for listening to this discussion any longer and the mention of Blaviken just adds to the simmering feeling of discontent and frustration inside his stomach. He leans over to Jaskier who promptly flinches and drops his fork.

“Behave.”

“Or what?” Jaskier has the nerve to say. It’s impossible not to notice his tense posture but Jaskier laughs nevertheless. “That almost raises the thrilling question of whether you keep track of the people and monsters you kill. Do you have a secret tally sheet or is that not necessary with your… uh, abilities?”

“Shut up.”

Geralt just wants to earn some fucking coin; nobody told him that disciplining an unruly noble would be this challenging. Back when he considered the contract, he didn’t have someone like Jaskier on his mind.

“Forgive me, forget my question, Sir… Witcher? Master Witcher? Given the fact that you will be here for a while, may I humbly ask your permission to call you Geralt? Really, I don’t care for titles or reputations, so we should forgo these meaningless words and phrases. Indeed, I like Geralt. It does sound… nice.” And Jaskier actually pats Geralt arm absently, like they’re close friends.

“Don’t do that,” Geralt says as he roughly removes Jaskier’s hand from his arm and slowly it dawns upon him why the viscount was desperate enough to seek out a Witcher. Bard or not, Jaskier undeniably seems like a handful.


	4. Chapter 4

For the rest of the evening Geralt tries his best to ignore Jaskier and his never-ending chatter, without much success. While his work is definitely cut out for him Geralt isn’t exactly willing to take over the part of a… mentor or teacher or nursemaid or whatever possible term fits this absurd situation the best. If somebody else had taken Jaskier in hand sooner, then Geralt could’ve been in another town by now, slaying monsters and solving actual problems, and he wouldn’t have to listen to a monologue about the effect of ballads on the heart. Or on any body part.

With more force than necessary Geralt stabs his fork into the food on his plate and when he glances to his side, Jaskier has stopped talking for a moment and swallows nervously.

Good. Maybe Geralt won’t have to hurt him to spark an effect of change in his behaviour.

“My, somebody seems to feel a tad violent today,” Jaskier nevertheless comments on Geralt’s manners. “I just hope that you won’t take out your surely justified anger on me? After all, I do try to make a good first – or well no, second – impression, you know?”

“I haven’t noticed.”

Jaskier winces but his smile is back in an instant. “Perhaps we just need to get to know each other better. If you tell me what you want from me, I will try my best to meet your expectations.”

That sounds quite reasonable, but after spending more than a heartbeat in Jaskier’s company, Geralt wonders where the catch is.

“Just be quiet,” he says.

Jaskier nods earnestly. “Yes alright, I can do that. No problem. Is there a certain amount of time you have in mind or should I guess from your body language or-“

“Just be _fucking_ quiet.”

Geralt is close to delivering his first dose of discipline right here and now, without knowing exactly what that means. Is a punch to Jaskier’s face too… harsh? Is Geralt supposed to whip him with his belt or a strap? He assumes that knives are out of question but then again Jaskier generally seems too weak to endure any type of punishment without snapping in half like a flower in the wind.

“I will gag you,” he warns Jaskier finally. “If you’re not quiet for at least one minute, you will spend the rest of this meal sitting here with a gag in your mouth.”

He has no idea where to actually get a gag from but if Jaskier wants to try his luck, he will improvise. Roach better appreciates his efforts at earning coin.

Jaskier stares at him and opens his mouth to object but quickly closes it again.

“Yes sir,” he says softly and unexpectedly obedient. Good choice. Threatening him apparently works, Geralt has to remember that.

He grunts in response and focuses on his food which is good when he doesn’t have to listen to endless talking about music. Geralt can feel Jaskier’s gaze on him but doesn’t pay any attention to it, lest Jaskier feels encouraged to speak again.

Unfortunately, the blessed silence is over far too soon.

“That was just a little joke, right? You wouldn’t really gag me... Oh gods, Geralt, I was almost worried that you would live up to your reputation and rip out my tongue with your bare hands. How foolish of me.” Jaskier shakes his head in amusement and then he is touching Geralt _again_ , and gently punches his shoulder and perhaps he does have a death wish, Geralt thinks.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” Jaskier continues by taking Geralt’s pendant between careful fingers and examining it. “Is that why they call you the white- Ah! No- sorry, sorry!” He lets go of the medallion immediately when Geralt roughly grabs the collar of Jaskier’s doublet and stands up, dragging him by his neck towards the door.

“Excuse us,” Geralt says to no one in particular and notices how the guests in the hall have fallen completely silent. Only Jaskier’s yelps and expressions of regret can be heard until Geralt pushes him through a door into an empty and nearby hallway and lets go of him.

Unable to catch his balance, Jaskier stumbles and falls onto the hard stone floor. “Mercy! Have mercy, please forgive me! I will never bother you again, Geralt, I swear by… by… by my own voice. Please.” Despite Geralt standing over him and Jaskier kneeling on the floor, the positions of power clearly distributed, he manages a small and rueful smile as if this was simply a scene in a tale for children. “I will behave now.”

Geralt hesitates but decides to leave it at that, part to the fact that he doesn’t have a precise idea regarding an appropriate response and partly because Jaskier might faint or offer more apologies, which would be even worse.

“No more touching.”

“Yes.” Solemnly, Jaskier puts a hand over his heart. “No more touching.”

Geralt doesn’t care about his dramatics, he just wants the lesson to stick.

“No more talking.”

Jaskier nods. It gives Geralt at least some hope about his intelligence, though he vows to himself to acquire some sort of gag in the near future. Being unprepared has never brought him luck and he won’t make that mistake again.


	5. Chapter 5

Jaskier’s attempts at following his instructions last for only a couple of short minutes after they have taken their seats in the hall again. Apparently, he can’t help himself but to stare at Geralt like he is growing a second head in front of him, and Geralt gradually realizes that he will probably have to follow through with his warning.

He considers threatening Jaskier again, but decides to refrain from it, a sliver of hope left that he might be able to just leave after the meal is over, without confirming people’s perception of him as a monster.

“I honestly didn’t expect it,” Jaskier says and tilts his head slightly. Talking again, because he doesn’t learn and because nothing in Geralt’s life can ever be easy.

Geralt glares at him and decides to give Jaskier one last chance. “You didn’t expect what?”

“You,” Jaskier replies. “The one’s before you were different. My mentors, I mean.”

That’s no surprise, since Geralt assumes they were human. Of course he’s different, he doesn’t need the constant reminders.

“They all had their preferences.” Jaskier sighs. “Belt, cane, back, hands. Didn’t care one bit about what I wanted, though. So I had to be creative.”

Geralt doesn’t want to know what that implies but he assumes that Jaskier will tell him anyway. He lets his gaze wander over the table, contemplating what could be used as gag or as _anything_ to silence him if Jaskier wants to focus on these subjects further.

“They weren’t nearly as good looking as you, however. Too old for me, far too dull and uninteresting. Has anyone ever told you that your eyes look like liquid gold, Geralt? And your hair…”

Jaskier reaches out to touch a white strand that has become loose but Geralt bats his hand away.

“No more of that.”

Could shoving bread down Jaskier’s throat be deemed an acceptable disciplinary action? Geralt doesn’t have enough experience for this task, and if Jaskier touches him one more time, he might turn him over his knee like the annoying brat he seems to be.

“Ah, yes.” Jaskier suddenly seems to remember his promise again. “Apologies, I got slightly carried away with my compliments.”

With his… compliments. At last Geralt realizes the intention behind Jaskier’s cheerful words.

This, the banquet, is merely a game to him, a fun opportunity to humiliate and degrade Geralt. Granted, he is no fighter, but Jaskier seems to be aware of the effects his language can have, and he uses this knowledge to shame and disgrace people, which must be the true reason for Geralt’s presence. Geralt knows how dangerous the right words in certain situations can be and if Jaskier is indeed as manipulative as their conversation has hinted, he is fully capable of harming land and people, just like the viscount has predicted.

Spoiled and cruel; Geralt was right with his first impression.

“I don’t want to hear another word from you. Be quiet or bear the consequences.”

“I- Oh. But…” Jaskier falls silent at Geralt’s growl. “Did I say something wrong?” He looks at him like an anxious deer, all worry and big eyes; quite a talent for acting, Geralt has to give him that.

But Geralt has his movements planned out and it will be easy to grab Jaskier’s arm and bend him over the table to give him a couple of well-deserved swats on his arse should he utter another word. A dose of his own medicine and of the shame, that he tries so hard to provoke, might take Jaskier down a peg or two. It won’t break him and people will recognize it as a punishment meant for children, so they won’t see Geralt as brutal and ruthless either. It’s is satisfactory solution, Geralt thinks, fitting for this situation.

“Forgive me if I made you uncomfortable,” Jaskier says, disregarding Geralt’s advice regarding his behaviour entirely. “I’ve been told before that my enthusiasm tends to be somewhat overwhelming.”

There it is again, the blatant disobedience and arrogance that only people of noble descent have perfected to this extent. Geralt rises from his seat. He gave Jaskier more than enough opportunities to follow his orders and if he has to stay to fulfil the contract, Geralt might as well begin with what is expected from him.

“Get up,” he tells Jaskier who had the common sense to shift in his chair in order to bring some distance between him and Geralt. “You obviously know why I’m here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to pause this fic for a while now because exam season is coming up. Just wanted to let you know. :)


	6. Chapter 6

“Perhaps you misunderstood-,“ Jaskier tries to talk his way of what’s inevitably going to happen but Geralt won’t have any of his calculated words and phrases.

“Stand up,” he orders again, ignoring Jaskier raising his hands in defeat and the way his skin pales.

“Right, okay, sure.” Now, Jaskier hurries to obey him, a stark contrast to his previous behaviour and not as rewarding as Geralt has imagined it to be. “See, I’m standing. I’ll be good, perfectly well behaved. There is really no need for the big bad wolf to come out.”

Geralt glares at him silently, all too aware that the viscount is following the scene with furrowed brows which means that Geralt cannot back down, has to establish his control and authority so that he can get through the rest of the contract and eventually leave this damn town.

“Bend over,” he says and starts to roll up the sleeve of his shirt.

Jaskier doesn’t move. His gaze is fixed upon Geralt’s slow and deliberate movements and the smell of fear and anxiety hovers around him like a cloud. It’s obvious that he didn’t anticipate this particular outcome and Geralt can almost see Jaskier frenetically trying to think of something that might save his arse from the literal tanning it is about to receive. Somehow, Geralt feels slight pity for the man even though he deserves what’s coming for him.

Maybe if they’re both lucky, one memorable trashing will be enough.

“You don’t have to do this,” Jaskier whispers when Geralt has finished rolling up his sleeve. “I… I just wanted to be kind. Geralt…”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not your friend.”

While it has been a nice change, Geralt neither needs nor wants sly and cunning people like Jaskier calling him by his name, since he cannot know where it will lead, and Jaskier quickly lost that possible privilege after Geralt understood his true intentions.

“Please, I- ah! Geralt- Geralt, please no.”

Considering the food and the far too extensive cutlery, Geralt doesn’t actually position Jaskier over the table but bends him over his own chair instead so that he has to place his hands on the seat in order not to fall over.

“Don’t do this,” Jaskier begs again before Geralt has even delivered one slap. “Or at least don’t do it _here_.”

“Not your choice,” Geralt replies, raises his hand and brings it down forcefully on Jaskier’s arse. He doesn’t use his full strength but it seems to be enough as Jaskier cries out like he branded him with an iron. Except for the steady noise of skin on cloth and the resulting yelps and whimpers the hall has gone completely quiet and all conversation has died. Most of the invited guests and noblemen curiously watch the spectacle unfolding in front of them, Geralt registers on the side, but some avert their gaze or observe the spanking with sympathetic eyes.

In any case, Jaskier doesn’t seem to notice the wide audience or he consciously ignores it after Geralt falls into a rhythm. To his credit, Jaskier doesn’t attempt to escape or to get up but instead he keeps his head down and occasionally brings out a few apologetic words between the swats before hissing sharply and stopping.

“Ger- Sir! I’m sorry… Ow! Very – fuck – very sorry indeed, please- Ow! Please believe me!”

“What are you sorry for?” Geralt wants to know, not unkindly. He doesn’t enjoy doing this any more than Jaskier, and it does feel like a ridiculous task compared to his usual work. He is no nanny, for fuck’s sake, nor will he ever be one.

“I’m sorry for- for… fuck! Can you just… Could you just stop for one second?” Jaskier’s voice is high with desperation.

“No.” Unimpressed, Geralt places a couple of harsh slaps on Jaskier’s thighs and Jaskier actually kicks his foot at that. “Stay still.”

“Forgive me- forgive me. Ow, I’m… sorry for… sorry for- shit! Sorry for saying the wrong things?” Jaskier offers, his breathing fast and irregular. One of his hands on the chair is clenched into a fist and eventually Geralt hears an audible whine and he picks up the salty sense of tears. Apparently, Jaskier is either intelligent or not stoic enough to prolong his punishment, and they can bring this whole affair to a close.

“Mind your language,” Geralt warns him and finishes with a sound slap to the middle of Jaskier’s arse. As answer he only gets a wet whimper.

The entire ordeal can’t have taken longer than ten minutes but the shift in the atmosphere is evident, and when Geralt turns to the viscount he receives a court and accepting nod. So yes… this _was_ what he expected of him.

The confirmation doesn’t necessarily bring Geralt peace.

He looks back at Jaskier who is still bend over the chair but who has sneaked a hand back to rub his sore arse. Without doubt he will later ask one of the servants for some cooling salve and he might develop a plan to make Geralt’s life at the manor a nightmare, but Geralt expects nothing less. He will be prepared. He will bring some implements, just to frighten the man a little and to prevent them both from having to experience such a situation again.

“May I get up?” Jaskier asks and glances up at Geralt through wet eyelashes. Timidly, he even puts his hand back onto the seat of the chair as if fearing that Geralt might discipline him more for wanting to rub the sting out of his skin. “Please?”

Geralt could make him stay in this position for a while but he isn’t that cruel and Jaskier has clearly learned his lesson. “Get up and sit back down.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The meek tone and the choice of words are a considerable change from Jaskier’s former speech but with the sour and salty smell of fear and tears still in the air, Geralt can’t appreciate it as much as he would like to. He would lie if he says that he doesn’t acknowledge Jaskier’s wince when he sits down and the way he keeps his eyes on his plate so he doesn’t catch Geralt’s gaze on accident.

Right now, Geralt is a monster to him indeed.


	7. Chapter 7

Jaskier doesn’t touch Geralt anymore that night, there are no lingering hands on his medallion or his shoulder, he doesn’t ask Geralt further questions; Jaskier doesn’t even _talk_ except when Geralt finally stands to leave and when the viscount noticeably clears his throat. Only then Jaskier mumbles an awfully polite and distanced goodbye, his gaze on Geralt’s chest, not his face. It’s… irritating, to say the least, and since Geralt has experienced Jaskier’s usual behaviour, his demeanour now is quite unsettling. Yes, Jaskier just took a public beating, but Geralt expected him to be more defensive, or at least to show signs of revenge. Instead there’s nothing, not even the sharp smell of steel that indicates anger and fury, just the salt of the tears that are still drying on Jaskier’s cheeks and the acid scent of vague distress.

So. Yes.

Maybe Geralt will be lucky and Jaskier’s intentions regarding possible payback will be too slow to actually hit him. Geralt plans to see Jaskier again in a couple of days to enforce the lesson once more, and if Jaskier’s reaction then will be the same as now, he can leave Dawnbury soon.

Later, when Geralt looks after Roach before returning to his room in the inn, he explains his strategy to her. She calmly chews on her hay and doesn’t appear to be overly interested.

“He’s young,” Geralt says, leaning against the wall, and he thinks of Jaskier and the banquet and shakes his head. “But not completely lost. I had to do it, you know? He deserved it.”

Roach stares at him, her eyes half closed. Geralt pets her neck.

“He might hurt many people, Roach… Probably already did. A bruised arse is nothing in comparison to what he could do.”

As if to agree, Roach leans her head against Geralt’s shoulder and gently nips at his shirt. She is right, and he is right, too, Geralt knows that.

Jaskier earned, even _needed_ that particular warning.

But, Geralt’s not made out of stone. Despite people’s assumptions and the rumours concerning his kind, he has a heart, and emotions, and Jaskier’s crying and begging definitely did affect him. It almost feels like they confirmed the cruel parts of Geralt’s character and like they turned him into something he never wanted to be.

But then again, it had to be done. Geralt does try to solve problems and when the problem is a disobedient and scheming noble, then so be it. He’s dealt with worse, so he can work with this.

“Tomorrow you will move to a nicer stable at the manor,” Geralt tells Roach and runs his fingers through her mane. He won’t stay at the inn and pay for a room and warm meals when he can get these things from the viscount for free. “I guess that you’ll get better food as well. Not that I’m too familiar with oats and hay.”

Roach snorts at that and Geralt chuckles. “I know. And if you see that little shit you have my explicit permission to bite him. Not too hard, just a little. Yes?” Roach doesn’t react but Geralt praises her nevertheless. “Good girl, thank you.”

He doesn’t expect her and Jaskier to actually meet each other and thus, Geralt is reasonably taken aback when two days later he returns from a conversation with the viscount to the stables at the manor and finds Jaskier whispering to his horse. What is even more surprising is that Roach patiently lets Jaskier braid some strands of her mane. The young man is standing with his back to Geralt and switches between gently patting her neck and skilfully interweaving strands of silky mane. Geralt stops dead in his tracks before any of the two notice him and listens to Jaskier’s soft murmuring.

“I mean, undoubtedly, I’m a bit eager and my attention can be too intense but I still think that… well, the thing that he did was unnecessary. You… agree? You agree, see! He’s a stupid and grumpy Witcher and he made a mistake. And- yes, no. You’re right, I won’t tell him that because then he might choose to do… uh, it again. Quite a wise horse you are.”

“She is,” Geralt says and Jaskier turns around so fast it looks almost comical. “What are you doing with my horse?” He doesn’t actually think that Roach is in any danger but asking won’t hurt.

Immediately, Jaskier lowers his hands and stops touching her and Roach impatiently neighs at that loss. “Your… horse. That’s… of course that’s your horse. I was just- There was a… there were a couple of twigs and burs in her mane.”

“No, there weren’t.” His answer makes Geralt wonder how Jaskier is able to twist the words and statements of others so easily when he’s such an obvious and bad liar.

“You’re right, sorry. Sorry, please don’t hit me. I’ll leave, I won’t come here again – I won’t even come near any horse again, ever, in my entire life. Doesn’t that sound good? Sounds great, I know, just let me-“ Jaskier tries to squeeze past Geralt but Geralt curls a hand around his arm and holds him back.


	8. Chapter 8

“Where are you going?”

“Uh- back to... stuff? You know, occasionally there are things that I have to do. So please let me go?” Jaskier smiles weakly and tries to squirm out of Geralt’s firm grip on his arm but quickly realizes its pointlessness. “I’m sorry for touching your horse, I won’t do it again,” he promises sincerely.

“I know,” Geralt says.

But besides Jaskier coming too close to Roach, there’s more he has to talk about with him, and he did plan on reinforcing the lesson of not manipulating and shaming people once more. “Your father says you’re still not acknowledging your responsibilities. Instead you hide. Here, apparently.” Geralt raises an eyebrow and waits for Jaskier’s explanation which follows promptly.

“I… well, that… Yes. Look, I just have a different way of approaching all of that? A very unique way, so to speak?”

Geralt tightens his grasp slightly. “I can see that. Ignoring your duties might be unique but it’s not very productive.”

“Yes.” Jaskier swallows nervously. “I know that. Trust me, I’m very aware of that.”

“Maybe a repetition of your previous punishment will make you even more aware then,” Geralt replies and begins to walk out of the stables, dragging Jaskier, who reluctantly stumbles next to Geralt, with him.

As soon as they’re outside and Jaskier seems to realize what will happen, he struggles more openly against Geralt’s hold of him, without much success. For Geralt, it does feel a bit like scruffing an unwilling kitten but he already anticipated Jaskier’s rather fruitless attempts of getting away from him and lands a stinging slap on his backside that makes Jaskier flinch. It’s a reminder of what’s about to come and Jaskier stills completely before renewing his efforts to break out of Geralt’s grip with desperate energy. “No… You don’t have to do this, Ger- Sir. Please- Please don’t.”

“Stay still,” Geralt growls and this time Jaskier actually obeys though he still begs and pleads until he even stops that, only sniffling sporadically while Geralt walks him into the vast gardens of the manor, wide away from prying eyes. Finally, he stops underneath a great willow tree and lets go of Jaskier who immediately rubs at his arm but doesn’t try to run, either too intimidated by Geralt or intelligent enough to recognize his physical superiority.

“See that tree?” Geralt says and Jaskier nods hesitantly. A part of Geralt hates what he is going to do but another part knows that it is the safest and easiest method to set Jaskier on the right path, so Geralt pays no attention to the doubt that gnaws on his heart. He does want to leave Dawnbury soon and get on the road again; this is simply necessary. Geralt holds out a small and dull knife to Jaskier. “I want you to cut me a switch. Be quick with it.”

Pale and forlorn, Jaskier stares at the knife but makes no sign of taking it.

“If I have to cut it for you, I will drag you all the way back to the manor and I will whip your arse in front of everybody who happens to walk by,” Geralt warns him and then Jaskier finally moves and takes the knife from him with stiff fingers and looks at the willow tree and doesn’t look like a man of power and hurtful words at all. In that moment, in the chilly winter air, he looks like a lost kid, forced to aid in his own punishment and Geralt thinks that… maybe he is indeed just that. Perhaps Jaskier really just wants to play the lute and focus on and love music but Geralt can’t know that for sure, and he has sworn to protect people, and sometimes that involves unpleasant tasks as well, tasks that he doesn’t feel completely comfortable with. So he waits, quite a while, until Jaskier has cut a switch and stripped it bare of branches and rough edges and hands it over to Geralt. He is still pale but his hands aren’t shaking anymore, Geralt notices, and for a few seconds Jaskier dares to look him in the eye. Suddenly, the switch feels heavier than any sword in Geralt’s hands ever could.

“Can I ask you something?” Jaskier wants to know and sniffles once more, because of the cold or of his impeding punishment, Geralt can’t say.

“Yes?” One small question before they deal with Jaskier’s failures.

Geralt gladly allows the distraction.

“I… I was wondering if I may ask… Ah, what’s her name?” Jaskier smiles faintly and Geralt feels like he’s been punched into the gut. He can’t know, Jaskier can’t possibly _know_ of him and Yennefer but Geralt has the urge to run away or to scream nevertheless.

Fuck.

“Whose name?” He asks instead; it’s in the past, there is no going back and of course, Jaskier doesn’t know. It has to be something else.

“Your horse,” Jaskier answers and now he avoids Geralt’s eyes again and his smile has faded. “Does she have a name?”


	9. Chapter 9

“It’s Roach,” Geralt says, unsure what to think of Jaskier’s question but if he attempts to hurt Roach, the viscount will no longer have a son and that would be one end of the contract.

“Oh. That’s- I guess that’s one way to name a horse?”

“It is.”

“Right. Yes…” Jaskier wraps his arms around himself and this time Geralt knows it’s from the damp cold round them and the frosty bite of the wind.

“You have a room, yes?” He asks and Jaskier nods. If he has to whip the man, they can at least do it inside so that Jaskier doesn’t freeze to death before Geralt has even delivered one hit.

“I do.”

Great.

“Lead the way.”

Jaskier blinks at Geralt, slowly and warily, but he turns and silently walks back to the manor while glancing beside him from time to time as if to check whether Geralt is still there. Of course, he is, and also Jaskier still has his knife.

“You know, I had a horse once,” Jaskier breaks the quiet after a couple of minutes and Geralt almost rolls his eyes. It really does seem impossible for the man not to talk for more than a few short moments.

He resists the desire to tap Jaskier’s backside with the switch. “What happened to it?”

“Oh, my father sold it. I… have – no, I _had_ – a habit of leaving the town and my father thought he could prevent that if I have no access to horses.” Jaskier sighs. At Geralt’s meaningful look he adds: “I’m not allowed to take the other ones in the stable. That… That has consequences.”

Consequences. Geralt does wonder what that entails since the viscount has appeared awfully passive in his son’s education so far, but for once Jaskier doesn’t explain his comment further. Research is needed, Geralt thinks. Definitely.

Jaskier’s room isn’t overly big nor expensively furnished which is a slight surprise. However, it is utterly chaotic which Geralt unconsciously expected: Books and bright clothes can be found in almost every corner, Jaskier’s bed is buried under an abundance of blankets and pillows, and on the desk next to the window are various pieces of parchment and open notebooks strategically stacked on top of each other.

“You live like this?” Geralt has to ask and Jaskier squirms uncomfortably as he closes the door behind them.

“Uh. Yes. Sorry… That is actually one of the reason my father hired you. My previous mentors sort of failed at teaching me how to be neat and tidy.”

“Clearly.”

Geralt lets his gaze wander around the room and considers how to position Jaskier. The bed is out of question, the only chair full off clothes. “Lean against the wall,” Geralt instructs and Jaskier shuffles to a strip of wall that is clear of all furniture.

“Do we have to do this?” Already, he seems on the verge of tears as he eyes the switch in Geralt’s hand.

“Yes.”

Geralt took the contract, it is out of question to just let Jaskier go on with his life without trying to make him a better person. And Geralt needs the coin, too.

“Is there anything in particular that you want me to improve in?” Jaskier asks and turns to face the wall. Gingerly, he places his palms against it. “Or is this just so that my father is satisfied? Because in that case you really should’ve chosen another place for a whipping. He can’t even see us here.”

“Stop mocking and ridiculing the people around you,” Geralt responds, ignoring Jaskier’s second question. “And drop your breeches. I want to see what I’m doing.”

Again, Geralt is able to pick up the scent of tears but Jaskier pushes his clothes down to his knees without any objections or backtalk and leans against the wall, even pushing his arse out obediently. His skin is still a faint pink despite Geralt having assumed that all signs of the previous discipline would have faded by now. He feels a sharp stab in his chest at that but raises the switch nonetheless. Damn it. They will both be relieved once this is over.

“I wasn’t mocking you,” Jaskier speaks softly, just before Geralt brings the switch down.

Geralt pauses in his movement, and he knows that he’s stalling but it’s not like he enjoys this kind of work. “What?”

“I wasn’t mocking you,” Jaskier repeats. “I just… wanted a friend. My compliments were genuine.”

And really, after hearing so many of Jaskier’s excuses and strange explanations, after hearing him stutter his way through them, always in search of the most appropriate words and failing spectacularly in his quest to find them, this… doesn’t seem like a lie to Geralt at all.


	10. Chapter 10

“You just wanted a friend.” Geralt lowers his hand that holds the switch to his side; Jaskier’s confession sounds so honest and raw that he can’t help but to halt in his actions. Could it be true…?

Jaskier shifts uneasily. “Yes.”

“Then why would you pick me?” Geralt has to ask because the idea of approaching him of all people to gain friendship or companionship seems beyond absurd to him.

“I… thought you would be kinder than your reputation makes you out to be? When I first met you at the tavern you didn’t behave like an insane killer so… why not be nice to you? Didn’t really work out though, given the current situation.” Jaskier laughs anxiously. Then he takes a deep breath. “Are we going to do this or not? I really don’t want to present my lovely arse any further to that switch than I have to.”

Geralt looks down at the thin branch in his hand, then at Jaskier, then back at the switch. Finally, he places it on the table in the corner, Jaskier following his movements with his eyes.

“I-I don’t need a warm up or something like that,” he assures Geralt. “Just get on with it. Please? Don’t make me wait for it…”

“I won’t.” Geralt shakes his head. “I won’t punish you now.”

“But later?”

“I don’t know yet.”

The contract and all that it includes is becoming more and more complicated in Geralt’s eyes, and he wants, no, he _needs_ to find out some things before he can go on like this. Perhaps a whipping is too hard for now, and if Geralt has truly made a mistake at the banquet, he doesn’t want to repeat it.

“So what happens now?” Jaskier asks, still in position, still not risking it to move. This isn’t the bold and bright young man anymore that Geralt met singing in the tavern who stroke a conversation with a known murderer. Now, Jaskier is more cautious of Geralt’s reactions and all too aware of what he could do and how he could hurt him, and it sickens Geralt how fast he confirmed all of the things that Jaskier didn’t want to believe about him at first.

“Pull up your breeches but keep the switch here. We might need it.”

“Yes, sir.” Jaskier fixes his clothes immediately and hesitantly raises his chin. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me for that.”

It was obviously the wrong thing to say since Jaskier lowers his eyes once more and intensely studies the floor.

Geralt has learned that him being quiet is never a good sign so he tries to fix his brashness.

“Do as your father says. Fulfil your duties, acknowledge your position. Then I won’t have to discipline you, alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

It sounds just as submissive as the first time Jaskier said it and Geralt hates the tone more than he would admit. “What happens when you take one of the horses?” He tries to change the topic to actually find out something useful.

“Um. Nothing good.” Jaskier continues to burn a hole into the worn carpet beneath his feet with his gaze, and really, does Geralt have to take him over his knee after all for a detailed answer?!

“Nothing good?” He repeats Jaskier’s words.

“Yes?” Jaskier tilts his head a bit, clearly hoping that Geralt will be satisfied with that short piece of information. He’s not.

“Explain,” he orders and Jaskier winces.

“Uh, so… maybe I disobeyed my father a bit too often and he was at his wit’s end, yes? He didn’t know what to do and beatings didn’t work and my mentors quit like I had the plague so he had to try something else. And, well… Don’t think of me as weak or some frail and pathetic creature, I just really didn’t like that new approach.”

“And what was that approach?” Geralt presses.

“He… made me sleep with the horses.”

To Geralt that gives the impression of a perfectly fine punishment, appropriate and fitting but Jaskier shivers at the bare mention like there’s more behind it.

“That’s all?”

“Yes…” Jaskier blushes and avoids Geralt’s gaze. “Look, I know it doesn’t seem like much, but I really didn’t enjoy it. I wasn’t even allowed in the stables, he made some guards bind me to a post outside and… it was really fucking cold. I mean, I’m only human. And I get hungry after a while and if you keep someone tied to a post for the whole night and the following day, that person eventually has to relieve themselves and- Sorry, you didn’t want to know that. It wasn’t pretty, that’s all I’m saying.”

The more Jaskier talks about what was done to him, the more Geralt realizes the hidden cruelty of his punishment and gets an idea of why Jaskier was so nervous around Roach once Geralt saw them. It wasn’t just Geralt and his impression as a Witcher, or even as the Butcher of Blaviken; Jaskier has an actual reason to fear him as one of his father’s henchmen. Geralt has seen him shiver after just a couple of minutes outside when he was cutting the switch, how would an entire night feel for him?! If Geralt’s research verifies his assumptions about Jaskier, it might have been even more than cruelty.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” he says and he means it.

Jaskier shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. “It’s been a couple of weeks and it’s not like I’m planning on inviting that particular response another time. And I won’t touch Roach – your horse, I mean – again. Am I… Am I allowed to use her name?”


	11. Chapter 11

Geralt confronts the viscount on the next day, rage and discomfort simmering low in his stomach. It’s not just that he’s beginning to realize just how wrong he was in his actions and personal judgement of Jaskier and his character, but he also has no idea how to fix his previous errors yet. It seems like Jaskier deserves a thorough apology, which is the least that Geralt can do. If Vesemir could see him now… Geralt doesn’t want to think of how disappointed he would be.

“Your son is difficult, yes?” Geralt demands to know from Jaskier’s father, and it’s not really a question.

Tired, and with a worn expression on his face, the viscount nods. “Yes. You met him, you saw his behaviour with your own eyes. Perhaps you think that I must hate him and that’s the reason for hiring you but I just want Julian to be strong. I want him to be a worthy heir.” The viscount stares into the distance like the thought of Jaskier being less rebellious and more suited for that particular role is still quite possible with Geralt’s help.

“I met a scared man,” Geralt slowly corrects him. He grits his teeth. “I met a scared man who tries to befriend people he shouldn’t even be around. A man who gets punished for liking music. Do you consider that fair treatment?!”

At his words, the viscount’s smile is bitter. “A son should be afraid of his father, Witcher, that is how the world works. And Julian knows what I expect of him. If he cannot listen, he needs to be punished. Wouldn’t you do the same if you were me?”

“No.” Geralt stares him down, rejecting the viscount’s comparison of their understanding of Jaskier’s behaviour. He deserves better, Geralt thinks. Jaskier deserves an actual chance to choose a life for himself.

“I take it, then, that you haven’t been very successful so far,” Jaskier’s father says. “And I remind you of the contract you signed. If you don’t need the money, however, you are free to leave the manor, and I will find someone else to tame Julian and to teach him his place.”

Fuck him.

Fuck the man, Geralt could turn around just now and walk away and search for work somewhere else, but…

He _can’t_. At this point, he owes it to Jaskier and Geralt has to ask for his forgiveness before he can even _think_ about leaving this damn town, and he has to make atonement for the pain he caused him.

“One of your kind surely knows many ways to inspire obedience,” the viscount adds. “Julian is far less bloodthirsty than all these creatures you deal with, so it’s a nice change, isn’t it?”

The joke falls flat and Geralt leaves the room without a response. None of his questions about Jaskier were denied, not once did the viscount disagree that his son was indeed frightened of him and of Geralt, and instead, Jaskier’s father emphasized his power over them both. Geralt remembers how gently Jaskier treated Roach and how passionate he explained music and poetry to him at the banquet, and the spark of self-hate in his heart grows until it aches.

What is he supposed to do now? How does one deal with causing this much pain without intention?

Instinctively, Geralt’s feet carry him towards the stable and he sighs when he recognizes the familiar view. Perhaps a conversation with Roach will help indeed. Quietly, he opens and closes the door behind him in order not to startle any of the horses and stops dead in his tracks.

Roach is gone.

Her smell still hangs faintly in the air, it can’t be long since somebody took her but the self-loathing inside of Geralt rapidly turns into hot anger and worry. A part of him hopes that it was Jaskier who had the nerve to steal her and another part wishes that it wasn’t, since then he would have an actual reason to punish him this time, and Geralt wouldn’t do it lightly.

He leaves the stable with chaos in his mind and his hands curled into fists.


	12. Chapter 12

It doesn’t take long for Geralt to pick up Roach’s scent on the streets leading to the outskirts of Dawnbury, and the familiar smell is mixed with another scent that Geralt recognizes all too easily: Honey. Chamomile. Being close to Jaskier was never even necessary to identify the kinds of soaps and perfumes he uses since the man seems to have a habit of completely covering himself in them like they’re part of his very own armour.

When Geralt comes upon other people they hastily step out of his way and he knows what he must look like, how furious he undoubtedly comes across. And he is angry indeed, but there is also a slight wariness that sneaks into his mind and thoughts.

Jaskier took Roach.

But _why_?

Was Geralt wrong and he does intend some form of revenge for what Geralt did to him at the banquet? Or is this an attempt to escape from his father, and from Geralt? Whatever Jaskier’s actual reasons were, it was definitely unwise of him to bring Roach into this.

Soon, Geralt is able to detect chestnut mane from a distance and a vague colourful figure next to his horse. Jaskier doesn’t notice him as he comes closer, far too focused on getting Roach, who stubbornly insists on staying in one particular spot in the middle of the empty road, to move by pulling gingerly on her reins. Apparently, Jaskier opted against a saddle and any other supplies, which allows the conclusion that he didn’t plan on leaving Dawnbury forever. The desperation in his voice, however, is evident.

“Come on, be a good girl, don’t ruin this for me? Honestly, your master won’t be happy if he finds us, so please… Ohh, Roach- Can I call you Roach? Geralt says it’s fine but… Come on. Just a few steps, just a bit more…”

Roach only turns her head towards Geralt as he’s approaching them and that’s when Jaskier finally spots him as well and flinches violently while taking a few steps back and letting go of her reins.

“Uh, I- It’s not what it looks like! I promise, I wasn’t going to hurt her! Is- I assume that running is a stupid idea, isn’t it?”

“Very stupid,” Geralt confirms and growls at him. He takes Roach’s reins and pets her neck in a gesture of comfort and praise for not letting Jaskier get too far away. Anger and irritation are still throbbing in his veins but dissolve slightly as he takes in Jaskier’s tense shoulders and the trembling of his hands.

“I’m… I’m very sorry. I really am.”

“You will be,” Geralt promises him and Jaskier pales and looks like he’s considering the idea of fleeing from Geralt once more. They will talk about all of this later, in detail. Geralt doesn’t want to repeat his previous mistakes but that doesn’t mean he will let what happened slide and just forget about it.

“Come here,” he orders and Jaskier swallows hard but risks a few careful steps into Geralt’s direction. “We’re going to ride back. If you say anything wrong or move in the wrong way, you will do that with a sore backside. Are we clear?”

“Yes. Absolutely. Very clear…” Jaskier bites his lip and reaches out to touch Roach but quickly pulls his hand back at Geralt’s glare.

It takes a few moments until they’re both on her back and Geralt adjusts the reins and nudges her forward with his legs until she falls into a light trot. Jaskier’s back is almost pressed against his chest since Geralt insisted that he sits in front of him so he doesn’t have the chance to slip away, and Jaskier winces every time he accidently touches Geralt. This close, he can smell the sweat on Jaskier’s skin and hears the anxious and fast rhythm of his heart and it reminds Geralt to take things slow and to properly calm down before he settles on a punishment.

“She didn’t want to leave,” Jaskier mumbles when they’re just about in front of the manor. During the entire ride he was quiet and didn’t say anything but it sounds like he wants Geralt to know this. “Roach… She wanted to stay with you. I guess that she likes you. You’re like… like her family?”

Geralt doesn’t respond to the subtle question but he hears the longing in Jaskier’s voice. Whether it is an accepting family that he wishes for or people to like him, Geralt cannot tell, but he will make sure to find out the meaning behind Jaskier's little adventure.

He won’t be a monster.

Not this time.


	13. Chapter 13

Geralt walks Jaskier to his room in silence, since for once, Jaskier does not seem to feel the need to comment on what happened and instead he meekly lets Geralt manhandle him through the corridors until they arrive at his room and Geralt closes the door behind them.

It shuts with a heavy thud and Geralt realizes that he might have used too much of his strength in the movement.

Doesn’t matter.

He lets go of Jaskier’s wrist but this time Jaskier doesn’t step away from him, only curls his fingers around where Geralt touched him and he looks at him, pale and… defeated.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, but Geralt doesn’t know what to do with that admission of guilt.

“Hmm.” He glares at him until Jaskier lowers his eyes to the floor.

Well, shit. He has to deal with this in some way but nothing appears to be right and he doesn’t want to fuck up. People are difficult, now more than ever.

“Stay here until I come back,” he eventually instructs Jaskier and the young man nods, still awfully quiet. It is unnerving and Geralt hates that at this point he’s almost used to his constant chatter and distracted observations regarding his surroundings. And that he did this. It’s Geralt’s fault that Jaskier tries to hide and deny these parts of his personality. The bitter sense of self-loathing in Geralt’s stomach is back, with a mixture of biting anger and an odd feeling of helplessness thrown in between, so he storms out of Jaskier’s room to look after Roach who is waiting in the stable for him.

Before, Geralt didn’t have time to take a good look at her and while she does seem fine, he wants to make sure that Jaskier indeed didn’t hurt her. A small voice in the back of his mind tells him that it’s unnecessary but Geralt ignores it and nevertheless checks Roach over for any wounds or injuries. There are none, as predicted. Jaskier didn’t lie.

“Fucking idiot,” he grunts and Roach tilts her head slightly. “Don’t look at me like that. He was stupid. Really fucking thoughtless.”

Roach nibbles at his fingers and at least the anger in Geralt slowly melts. He takes a deep breath through his nose. “Guess I was pretty stupid too, hm? Not just him.”

Roach turns away from him and concentrates on her hay and Geralt watches her for a while. Of course he has to punish Jaskier, there is no way around it unless Jaskier has an incredibly good explanation for his... whatever it was that lead him to taking her. Even if it was a poorly planned escape – and Geralt sincerely doubts that it was, because not even Jaskier can be that foolish and not take any food or clothes with him in the middle of winter – Geralt has to teach him that his behaviour was unacceptable.

“Fuck this,” he mutters. Perhaps some meditating will calm him and bring some badly needed inner balance.

He can talk to Jaskier later.

When he does get back to Jaskier’s room, Geralt feels more like himself and has regained his perception of control and order. He will punish Jaskier if he has to but he will be fair about it and he won’t be unnecessary cruel like last time.

It’s late evening now and he has given Jaskier the whole day to think about his actions and to come up with some nice apology. After all, he does seem to like poetry and literature so Geralt can expect a suitably articulated request for forgiveness, right?

For a short moment when he arrives in front of Jaskier’s room, Geralt considers knocking but then opts against it and just opens the door without any prior announcement. Jaskier immediately leaps up from where he was sitting close to the window and opens his mouth at Geralt’s entrance but then closes it again without saying anything. Geralt raises an eyebrow and Jaskier faintly shakes his head.

Fine. He will talk, and if Geralt has to stay all night.

Despite Jaskier’s silence he does look a bit better, less miserable and not as dejected as before.

And something else is different as well: Jaskier’s room is… clean. No more clothes and pieces of parchment decorate every single surface, the floor is visible and everything seems… sort of empty.

The only items that Geralt can detect now are the things laid neatly in a row on the desk and he doesn’t like the sight at all.


	14. Chapter 14

“What’s this?” He wants to know and points to the desk.

Jaskier wraps his arms around himself. “That… Yes. Uh, those are some options? I didn’t know what you would prefer but this is what my other mentors mainly used and I thought I might take some work off of you? Sorry… Obviously you can decide my punishment for yourself.”

Geralt chooses not to reply to that and steps closer to the desk. There is the switch that he told Jaskier to keep, placed carefully right next to a cane and a sturdy wooden paddle. There is a belt, presumably one of Jaskier’s own, and an actual horsewhip, and a hairbrush that looks almost harmless next to the other implements.

It’s not something Geralt expected and definitely not something that he considered using.

While he examines his “choices”, Jaskier starts talking without being prompted. “I’m aware that you have to discipline me for… for what I did but I would be incredibly – and I really mean that – incredibly grateful if you don’t use the whip? I know, it would be like, a poetic-justice kind of thing since I sort of stole your horse but um… Please. Trust me, I won’t like any of the other things either so you can definitely make your point. Or I guess you could just use your fists or – well, maybe don’t cut something off with one of your swords, but otherwise it’s absolutely your decision, I’m not, ah, guiding you towards anything and-“

“Stop talking,” Geralt interrupts him. All of a sudden his mind is too chaotic like it was before and he’s been with Jaskier for only a few moments. This is… This is too much. He didn’t came here to torture Jaskier, he had… a plan. Emphasis on ‘had’. “Why did you do it?”

“Why did I do it?” echoes Jaskier and looks at the implements on his desk like they’re different boots to wear and not something Geralt could beat him unconscious with if he truly wanted to.

“I’m sure there was a reason behind it.”

“Yes.” Jaskier adjusts the cane even though it was already placed perfectly straight. “I now realize that this reason was potentially beyond stupid.”

“Tell me.” Geralt wants to be done with this, he doesn’t want to play judge, jury and executioner longer than he has to.

Jaskier’s smile is too wide to be real. “I… wanted to see what you would do?”

Geralt stares at him because there’s no way this is the truth. No one challenges a Witcher. No one challenges his possibly murderous unknown mentor.

“Yes, so that was a bit dumb”, Jaskier agrees. “When I took Roach I knew that you would catch me, but you made me cut that switch and then you just _left_ and I honestly hate having to wait for the pain and the humiliation and the accusations and all of the other wonderfully pleasant things that are connected to being me. So I thought I would speed it all up, and then I wouldn’t have to go over it in my mind all the damn time. And it worked. Here we are.” He spreads his arms in a grand gesture.

“You wanted me to punish you,” Geralt slowly concludes. It’s hard to structure and analyse his feelings at that.

“Yes.”

“Because you expected me to do that anyway?”

“Mhh. Everyone else did.”

“And you assumed I’m like everyone else?”

Jaskier looks at him, and Geralt can see how vulnerable he is behind the jokes and feigned calmness and the intentionally relaxed posture.

“No”, Jaskier say softly. “I like to think you’re not. But I stole your horse and at the banquet you spanked me in front of all of these people and everyone tries to change me into someone I’m not, and I don’t know if I’m right anymore. I want to be but… It’s not like you’re my friend.”

“Hm…”

They both look at implements arranged on the table and, unlike usually, Geralt doesn’t enjoy the silence that surrounds him.

“Do you want that?” he asks. He doesn’t need any doubt or uncertainty.

“I didn’t lay out a cane for you to tap me on the nose and then leave,” Jaskier remarks. “Sorry. Being stupid again.”

Geralt pays no attention to it. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

And this is the hard part, the one where the risk of fucking up is high, the part that was never included in Geralt’s initial plan, but it’s the only thing that feels _right_. “Do you want me to be your friend?”


	15. Chapter 15

“My… friend?” Jaskier says the word like he pronounces a foreign term, his curiosity and longing barely covering his caution. “Why?”

Geralt frowns. Was he wrong in his assessment? Was his question… rash and thoughtless?

“Looks like you could need one.”

“No- yes, absolutely. I mean, I do need one, I do _wish_ for one but – don’t take this personally, just after all that happened, I’m a bit, um, sceptical.”

He doesn’t explicitly say it but Geralt knows what Jaskier means; considering their past, it was an awfully tactless suggestion.

“I’m sorry for what I did to you.”

His apology doesn’t make it better and the words sound empty and not at all like what Geralt was trying to convey but he doesn’t know how else to phrase his request for understanding.

“Mhh… Yes.” Jaskier only tilts his head in acknowledgement, not acceptance. “If… you’re my friend… then you won’t punish me, right?”

Ah. So this is what he is going for, that Geralt forgets his mistakes and forgives them easily, and that Jaskier won’t have to suffer the consequences. But it’s not what Geralt has planned and even though he does feel an… urge of protection at seeing the things that Jaskier has laid out for this particular purpose, he wants to make sure that Jaskier understands what he did wrong. He will be careful though. He will be… gentle.

“I will punish you,” Geralt confirms. When Jaskier’s face falls, he adds: “It won’t be like last time.”

Jaskier nods but doesn’t seem too confident in his promise. Geralt can’t blame him.

“What are you going to use?” he asks and Geralt remembers the reason why they’re here. Prolonging this would probably be an additional punishment for Jaskier, so he eyes the implements on the desk again and eventually picks up the hairbrush.

“That alright?”

Jaskier smiles uneasily. “Yes. That was actually my own suggestion, even though I knew that you would never chose it. Guess I was wrong.”

Geralt raises his eyebrows. “Would you prefer something else?”

“No!” Immediately, Jaskier shakes his head. “Fuck no. I’m fairly sure you can do enough damage with that.”

“Hm.” A spark of uncertainty settles in Geralt’s stomach as he takes a seat on the bed that is bigger than he expected when pillows and clothes were strewn all over it. He pats his thigh. “Come here. Over my knee.”

For some reason he didn’t expect Jaskier to laugh at that. “I understand that in comparison to you I’m quite young, but I’m certainly no child, Geralt. Please? I can just bend over the desk or something similar, really.”

Not for the first time Geralt thinks that Jaskier has a talent for complicating things.

“Over my knee, I won’t say it again. Don’t make me get you.” At the last sentence Geralt allows some steel to sneak into his voice. Jaskier is a brat indeed, though definitely not as unpleasant and cunning as Geralt originally thought him to be.

“Fine! Fine… Is this alright? I mean, it should be, you can’t really do much wrong with bending over someone’s knees but still – hm, this is incredibly uncomfortable, I have to say. Sorry, do I talk too much?”

“It’s alright”, Geralt replies, meaning both Jaskier’s position and his distracted mumbling. He’s a warm weight over his lap, his feet on the mattress and his hands already clutching one of the remaining pillows, and Geralt places his left hand on the small of Jaskier’s back to stop his squirming. “Be still.”

“Sorry.” Jaskier’s voice sounds muffled from where he hides his face against the sheets.

There are only a few adjustments left to be made. “Lift your hips.”

Jaskier groans and mutters half coherent things all the while Geralt unfastens his breeches, slides them down to his knees and folds the tails of Jaskier’s chemise up and out of the way. “This is far more embarrassing than I anticipated.”

“It’s supposed to be.”

Despite his muttering and fidgeting, Jaskier doesn’t fight him and him being bare does have the advantage that Geralt can end his punishment sooner.

At last he takes up the hairbrush, weighing it in his hand. It will do.

“Tell me why I have to do this.”


	16. Chapter 16

“Because I, um… Can we not talk about this? I will be good in the future, I promise, there’s no need for- ow!” Jaskier throws his head back and stares at Geralt accusingly, like he was the one who sold his horse instead of landing a slap on his arse that Jaskier probably barely felt.

“Try again.”

Despite Jaskier’s squirming Geralt keeps his hand on his right thigh and when he gently squeezes, Jaskier stills.

“I took Roach”, he mumbles. If Geralt were human he wouldn’t have been able to hear it.

“Better. And?” He can sense Jaskier’s uncertainty, the bitter layers of anxiety in the air, and Geralt does want to be considerate and thoughtful, so he decides to make it a bit easier for him. “I don’t like being manipulated. If you want me to punish you, then you fucking tell me.”

“Yes, sir.” Jaskier clenches his cheeks but Geralt doesn’t use the hairbrush yet.

“Are you sorry?”

“Yes.” Now Jaskier nods, as much as the pillow that he’s still hiding his face in allows him. “Very sorry. Forgive me, please?”

And suddenly Geralt understands how hard it was for Vesemir to take a belt to him, or Eskel or Lambert, when they were young and rebellious, because the thought of causing Jaskier to cry and to place so much trust in Geralt’s hands is… quite overwhelming.

“I’ll forgive you when we’re done here,” Geralt promises Jaskier as much as himself, and perhaps they can indeed start anew after this. He meant what he said: Jaskier does seem like he desperately needs a friend in his life and if Geralt can fill this position, he is willing to try.

Jaskier mumbles something that even Geralt can’t make out but he does relax slightly over Geralt’s knees. “Can we begin? As I said, I don’t- fuck, alright! Geralt… Geralt, no!”

With every carefully measured strike that Geralt brings down after his little lecture, Jaskier’s attempts to get away from the brush, that turns his skin into a bright red, increases, and he groans into his pillow.

For Geralt, it’s harder to follow through with the announced punishment than expected. He doesn’t enjoy Jaskier’s cries and hisses as Geralt focuses his attention on his thighs or the way he tries to twist out of Geralt’s firm grip on his hip when he strikes the same spot several times, or how he actually _begs_ Geralt to stop and Geralt has to guess how much he means it. It’s almost a good thing that Jaskier never stops whimpering and talking and expressing his thoughts on _everything_ , since Geralt has learned the hard way that him being quiet is _worse_.

“Shit, Ger- ow, not there! Please not there, can you just – no, fuck!” Jaskier howls as Geralt places a few hard slaps where Jaskier will feel it every time he sits down.

However, he never reaches back and accepts the pain and humiliation and… yes. Geralt has to admit that he is impressed by that. On the one hand he feels the need to tell Jaskier this and reassure him that he will be fair, but on the other hand Geralt is very much aware of his missing talent regarding words and any verbal form of praise.

“You’re doing well”, he says nevertheless. Jaskier openly sobs at that which leads to Geralt’s stomach churning and his heart burning at hearing Jaskier’s complaints being replaced by sniffles with every further strike that Geralt places on awfully sore and sensitive skin.

“We’re almost done,” he tells Jaskier because the silence, only filled with Jaskier’s occasional moans and whines, feels wrong. “Almost done.”

He finishes with a slap that is almost a tap and places the hairbrush next to him on the bed. Jaskier is still crying and from what Geralt is able to see, his neck is red and sweaty, and his breathing is uneven and interrupted by sobs.

Fuck.

He didn’t think of that: of what to do after the punishment is over. Though Jaskier will have trouble sitting down during the following week, Geralt was careful, he didn’t take it too far, there are no bruises and no broken skin – he’s… just not good at the comforting part. Not that he likes to think of himself as being good at disciplining people… or Jaskier, in that case.

“Shh. You will be fine.” Hesitantly, Geralt rubs Jaskier’s back because that’s what Vesemir used to do in situations like these. “Calm down a bit, yes?”

It’s a suggestion as much as a plea.


	17. Chapter 17

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier manages to say between a few shaky sobs. “I- I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” Geralt replies because it seems to be the only possible answer.

But even though he continues to rub Jaskier’s back and says some more hopefully soothing words and phrases that sound too much like Vesemir and not at all like Geralt, it takes some time until Jaskier’s breathing slows again and the air doesn’t smell like acid worry and salty tears anymore.

“Shh, stop crying,” Geralt repeats yet again, without knowing if Jaskier hears it, and Jaskier takes a final shuddering breath and then lies completely still over Geralt’s knees which isn’t necessarily better. His arse looks sore and aching and a part of Geralt really wants Jaskier to pull up his breeches, but another part of him knows that he shouldn’t push it, that he still needs to be gentle. If Jaskier needs or wants this to calm down, then Geralt won’t force him out of it.

They stay like this for what feels entirely too long, Geralt resting his hand on the small of Jaskier’s back, and Jaskier utterly quiet, not even sniffling anymore.

It’s uncomfortable, not so much physically but definitely in an emotional sense.

Eventually, Jaskier shifts slightly and Geralt doesn’t dare to move, as if he might startle a frightened horse.

“Can I get up? I- I will be good, I promise. I won’t run if you’re concerned about that.”

“Hm.” To be fair, Geralt didn’t imagine Jaskier to actually attempt that, not after a thorough trashing and with his breeches still around his ankles. “Yes.”

In an awkward and less than elegant motion Jaskier slides off his lap and swiftly fixes his clothes, then he cautiously takes a step to the side and clears his throat. His eyes are red and puffy, his hair messy and dishevelled but he still looks like Jaskier, and Geralt doesn’t know what he expected.

“Just to be sure, because by now I know that you’re not the talkative type – and that’s fine, no offense, silence is golden and all that – but if… if I may ask: Are we done? I mean, was that all or do you want to use any of these other magnificent implements, because –“

“We’re done,” Geralt interrupts him before Jaskier talks himself into his previous fear again.

Jaskier stares at him like he expects Geralt to change his mind any moment, like he could provoke him into action with any more questions.

“You,” Geralt starts. “You did well.” As soon as he says the words, they sound strange and inappropriate and Geralt hates himself a bit.

“Oh. Thank you?”

Geralt grunts in response. At last he gets up; this is it, there are no more parts to a punishment, so surely he can leave.

But of course, with Jaskier it’s never easy like that.

“Geralt?”

“What?” He turns around, too abrupt in his movement and apparently too harsh in his tone and Jaskier pales and shakes his head.

“Nothing. It’s nothing, just forget it, you can leave now. It’s fine if you want to go.”

“Tell me. What is it?” Geralt tries to soften his voice as much as possible, though it feels odd and unfamiliar. He doesn’t talk to Roach that way, wouldn’t even use that tone around a young foal… With Jaskier, however, it seems to work.

“It’s stupid, yes? You don’t have to do it, Witchers aren’t stuffed animals, you have swords and everything and I was merely wondering if, you know, I- um. A hug would be nice?”

A hug. A… hug.

A damn hug; the idea is indeed bizarre.

“Alright.” There is no way Geralt can refuse Jaskier a wish that simple. “Come here.”

Jaskier blinks slowly. “Really?”

But he takes a step forward, and Geralt thinks that right now he must be braver than any man or creature he ever fought, since risking the anger of a Witcher for a fucking hug requires true courage.

Holding Jaskier close feels a lot more natural than disciplining him and when Jaskier tightens his grip around Geralt’s shirt after a second and buries his face into his shoulder, every connection in Geralt’s mind to being a monster subtly vanishes. He cups Jaskier’s neck in one hand and strokes his back with the other and neither of them say anything, but this time the silence around them is comfort and safety.


	18. Chapter 18

Geralt lets Jaskier press close to him as if he’s a starving man, hungry for attention and approval. While his punishment had been unpleasant for both of them, this is an experience that Geralt finds he likes and surprisingly doesn’t feel uncomfortable with.

Due to the tears drying on his cheeks, Jaskier smells like salt but the sweet scent of honey and chamomile isn’t betrayed anymore by undertones of anxiety or apprehension, and Geralt likes to think of it as an accomplishment and a step into the right direction.

“This is nice,” Jaskier mumbles against his shoulder and sighs contentedly. “It’s nice when there’s no pain.”

Geralt doesn’t respond. Perhaps Jaskier has already forgotten his throbbing arse or the various implements that are still presented on the desk but Geralt is aware that just moments ago he did something that obviously wasn’t nice at all. He knew it had to be done but… he does feel guilty about it.

“Sorry,” he murmurs in order not to startle Jaskier or to break the fragile atmosphere of calm surrounding them.

“What are you sorry for?” Jaskier nevertheless asks, with a hint of concern in his voice that he probably doesn’t notice himself.

“Punishing you.”

“Oh.” Jaskier takes a step back and Geralt lets him. His cheeks are flushed in a way they weren’t before and Geralt isn’t sure if he should be worried about that.

“I didn’t enjoy disciplining you,” he adds, in case it’s not clear.

Jaskier’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s fine, I did something stupid. Just- Can you tell me what I can do so you like me? Actually like me, not some artificial and false feeling that one can put out like the flame of a candle. If I can indeed earn your friendship then I would like to try?”

His phrasing makes it sound like that kind of bond is something that can only be gained through hardship and personal misery and it reminds Geralt of the Trials and overwhelming moments of fear and insecurity.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he says. Jaskier will never suffer like he did, not if he can prevent it.

“Nothing at all? I might not be a Witcher but I’m sure I can be useful if you allow me to aid you. Please, I… I’ve never had a true friend before. You can hurt me if you want to, maybe when you’re angry so you can feel better – and I’m not implying here that Witchers are more violent than others, just-”

“ _Jaskier_.” Their conversation is turning into a direction that Geralt isn’t keen on.

Jaskier winces. “Forgive me. Sorry, forgive me. I shouldn’t beg you like that.”

Geralt takes a deep breath. He should’ve never offered Jaskier something uncertain as this, but now it’s too late, he can’t and he has no desire to go back to their previous standing. “You don’t have to give me anything in return, that’s what I meant. I just want you.”

“Just me?”

“Yes.”

Jaskier remains silent, undoubtedly contemplating the truth of Geralt’s words as he leans against the desk and looks out of the window, across the vast lands that will belong to him one day.

“Will you do it again?” he finally wants to know and turns his head back to face Geralt. “Punish me?”

Lying won’t benefit either of them, Geralt knows, and he doubts that Jaskier won’t fuck up another time, so he slowly nods. “Probably.”

“But you won’t hate me like my father does?”

“No.”

Geralt stops himself before he can say ‘Never’ because it’s a promise he can’t afford yet. It seems too precious to him, and too valuable to give it at this state of their… whatever it is that Jaskier chooses.

“I-“ Jaskier licks his lips and his gaze flickers between the floor, Geralt and the door. “I like you, too. Not your reputation. Just you.”

His declaration carries a weight that Geralt will never forget.


	19. Chapter 19

“Does that mean we’re friends now?” Jaskier wants to know, a small cautious smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Hm. I suppose… Yes.”

The confirmation feels entirely too formal but Jaskier apparently doesn’t care.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely and then moves to sit on the chair, now free of clothing, but swiftly jumps up again as his rear touches the seat. “Ah, sh- not a good idea! Not a good idea, fuck. You’re way too talented at wielding that evil hairbrush.”

“Sorry.”

Jaskier shakes his head. “It’s fine. I guess I deserved it and you were much nicer than my previous mentors. No hard feelings. Even though I do like sitting, you know.”

He says it so easily that Geralt doesn’t want to find out what exactly they did or lest he might actually think about doing certain things to Jaskier’s father. Instead he nods towards the implements on the desk. “Where did you keep them?”

“Those…” Jaskier shifts awkwardly on his feet. “In my closet. And now that said closet is quite empty and please don’t think that I’m crazy and idiotic but I just didn’t want to put things that I like to where I also have, well, a cane. So don’t look under my bed or you won’t be impressed by my sudden tidiness anymore.”

From Geralt’s perspective, it doesn’t sound idiotic at all but rather like a sensible choice, and he could care less about Jaskier’s sense for order and organisation. Nonetheless, he can’t help but look at the cane that Jaskier mentioned, at the switch and at the horsewhip.

What kind of life did Jaskier lead until now?

“Geralt?” Jaskier startles him out of his thoughts and Geralt averts his gaze to the much more pleasant sight of Jaskier still smiling openly.

“Yes?”

“I really don’t intend to change the topic to that matter but, ah… now that we’re officially friends, it would be helpful to know how long this arrangement will last?”

Not for the first time it’s hard to keep up with Jaskier’s thought process.

“Which arrangement?”

“The friendship arrangement thingy. Unless… you didn’t mean it.” Jaskier’s smile loses some of its brightness. “It’s not part of your contract, right? You pretending to like me and everything.”

Once more it amazes Geralt how quickly Jaskier’s perception of a situation can change. He is hurt indeed, Geralt realizes, not only in the flesh but there are certain wounds that had a deep impact on the way he views things.

“It’s not in my contract. I doubt your father would approve of me even proposing this kind of thing,” he tells him, wary to keep his voice even and not to let Jaskier know of the fury it can carry.

However, Jaskier isn’t wrong: Eventually, Geralt will leave and Jaskier won’t be able to accompany him. Witchers walk the Path alone, sharing his life with someone in that manner never crossed Geralt’s mind before, and in addition to that Jaskier is no fighter, he has no knowledge of the creatures Geralt slays or how to survive outside of the manor. It’s impossible to take Jaskier with him and yet, Geralt feels unable to tell him that.

“We’ll see how long I will be here,” he finally says. “But for now you don’t have to worry about anyone harming you. Not while I’m with you.”


	20. Chapter 20

After being in Dawnbury for a few weeks and spending his days with mending his gear or seeing after Jaskier, who slowly converts back to the lively personality that Geralt experienced at their first meeting back when Jaskier was pretending to be a bard, Geralt honestly doesn’t expect another contract.

He’s riding on one of the smaller roads leading through the woods that surround the town, the trees still bare in the cool blasts of wind that swirl up the snow underneath Roach’s hooves, and only a few huts and farms on the side of the road.

Roach needs to stretch her legs and Geralt doesn’t necessarily like the manor so their excursion is a welcome change to the constant surveillance of the viscount and his servants. Geralt doesn’t mind Jaskier coming to him at the end of the day, complaining about his duties as his father’s heir and telling him about his day, but he could do without the viscount’s inquiries about Jaskier’s progress.

He urges Roach into a light trot, feeling the tension in his muscles lessen the farther he gets away from the manor. Still, he can’t turn his mind away from the issue of leaving Jaskier behind when Geralt will leave Dawnbury for longer than just a ride. There is no chance he can take him to Kaer Morhen, and then later with him on the Path, but Geralt favours the idea of letting Jaskier accompany him to one of the bigger cities where they could part ways. He likes to imagine that Jaskier could indeed earn money with his music but a more realistic and reasonable part of Geralt knows that most likely, Jaskier will get lost and swallowed in the atrocities that are never far in places where a multitude of people live close together. And Geralt can’t help but focus on the other pictures that fill his thoughts at that: People stealing from him, hurting him, killing Jaskier, because the man has proven before that he can’t ever keep his mouth shut.

No, Jaskier can’t be on his own, not like this, not as powerless as he is now. Geralt growls at the inner conflict in his heart that doesn’t seem to have an ideal solution.

At the horizon a bigger house comes into view, a tavern, not as polished as the ones in town but at this point Geralt will take what he can get. Anything to take his mind off of Jaskier or the way his face lights up when he knocks at Geralt’s door every evening and Geralt actually opens and lets him in.

\---

“Someone offered me a contract,” Geralt tells Jaskier later that night.

Various candles spread their warm light in the small room that the viscount gave Geralt, and Jaskier is sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning against Geralt’s bed and scribbling something on a piece of parchment that he brought.

At Geralt’s words he looks up. Fear flickers across his features. “Are you taking it?”

“Hm.” Geralt tilts his head. “Yes. I could use the coin and it’s easy work.”

Jaskier swallows hard and lets his hand with the parchment sink to the floor. “When are you going?”

“Tomorrow.”

Jaskier nods. “So that’s goodbye then? We only have until morning and then I’ll never see you again? I thought it would be easier like that, letting go of the one person who treats me like more than a title and-”

“I’m coming back,” Geralt gently reminds him.

“You… What?”

“I’m coming back here. It’s just a pack of wolves that terrorize the people living near the woods. Probably can’t find enough food during this time of the year so they try for the cattle. I’ll come back after I killed them.”

“Oh.” Jaskier lowers his eyes. “Forgive me. I thought you would just leave like that and it felt so bad and so wrong and… fuck. Fuck, I really don’t want to be so emotionally dependent on you but I guess I am.” He laughs but Geralt knows that this is Jaskier’s method of hiding his fears.

“I’ll stay,” he promises.

“I know.”

“Good.”

They sit in silence for a while but Jaskier doesn’t pick the parchment back up and changes his position so that he can rest his chin on his knees. He looks like a child, too young and too defenceless for his surroundings that caused him to be damaged like this.

And he only has Geralt to fix it.

“It’ll take a day or two, then I’ll be back,” he says and Jaskier hums in acknowledgment.

“I’ll wait for you.”


	21. Chapter 21

The wolf pack is small, Geralt estimates the number to be around six if he can trust their traces and his own experience. It takes some time until he finds and hunts a rabbit that he can use as bait, since the animals in the woods seem to be as cautious of him as they are of the chilling weather, and frozen leaves on the ground crunch barely audible under every one of Geralt’s steps.

Eventually though, he has the rabbit prepared and waits for the wolves in a safe distance to it.

The farmer who offered him the contract allowed him to leave Roach on the tiny pasture next to his house, which she shares with the one goat that the family has left while Geralt is gone. It’s not the most difficult contract that he has ever taken and at other times he might’ve forgone it in search for better coin, but he is a Witcher and right now the task gives him a purpose in his life that isn’t connected to taking bratty aristocrats over his knee. Not that Geralt feels the need to complain about this specific part of his life…

He kills the first wolf without effort, shoots number two and three with the crossbow that he has taken with him before they can even come close. They’re thin but desperate, just as Geralt anticipated and he knows that they see him not only as a threat but also as a possible meal. Number four leaps at him and tries to sink its teeth into Geralt’s shoulder while number five goes for his thigh at the same time but Geralt swiftly sidesteps them both and hears the ugly sound of their teeth as their mouth closes around nothing.

For this fight he has chosen a crossbow and a long and sturdy knife, and now Geralt throws the crossbow aside, ducks and uses the knife to slice the throat of number four as if it were butter. He takes two quick steps and is almost at number five when the wolf suddenly turns and joins the last one of the pack in their sprint towards something else, both of the animals picking up a new scent in the exact moment Geralt does.

Honey and chamomile… and blood.

Shit.

Alarm and dread flood his veins and find their way to Geralt’s heart as he bats branches and bushes out of his way and races the last two wolves to a vague colourful figure at the edge of the woods.

Shit, shit, _fuck_ – this is _not_ how this was supposed to go.

He throws the knife just as one of the wolves gets far too close and rises up to jump and hits his target immediately. The last one is more challenging but Geralt is driven by sickening worry in his stomach and then the wolf’s neck snaps and suddenly it’s over and he is kneeling over the body on the frozen ground, panting hard and staring up at Jaskier, who is only a few meters away from him and clutches the awfully small and dull knife that Geralt gave him to cut a switch in one of his hands. He’s shaking, most likely not just because of the cold.

Geralt rises and grits his teeth, stopping himself from coming closer and giving Jaskier a good shake.

“What the fuck were you thinking?!” he growls and this time he doesn’t care that Jaskier might be scared of him. If that prevents him from ever pulling stupid shit like that again, Geralt will gladly accept his fear.

“I…” Jaskier takes several deep and hasty breaths. His eyes looks glassy and the sweet scent of soap mixes with salt. “I wanted to see if you’re really not leaving. You said there are just some wolves and- Geralt, I didn’t know they are that big, I’ve never seen one this close, and I didn’t want to lose you and I just wanted you to _stay_. I just wanted you to stay…” Jaskier’s last sentence is cut off by a sob.

He looks absolutely wretched emotionally and Geralt can’t help but pull him into an awkward hug.

Damn it.

Damn it indeed; he’s not supposed to care this much about some troublesome young noble and yet here they are.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier whispers into Geralt’s armour and clings to him despite staining his own doublet with the wolves’ blood in the process.

“I know,” Geralt murmurs and thanks the gods that Jaskier is safe in his arms instead of ripped apart on the icy winter ground. “I know.”


	22. Chapter 22

They ride back to the manor with the coin for the fulfilled contract in one of Roach’s saddle bags and Geralt not even wanting it anymore. Jaskier steals glances at him despite being unable to actually see Geralt since he’s in the saddle in front of him, and he shifts so much that eventually Geralt switches the reins to one hand and places the other on Jaskier’s twitching fingers until he stills.

It’s a complex situation, he can’t deny that, but Jaskier’s small nervous movements don’t help Geralt deciding on how to deal with it. The ugly truth is that Jaskier did risk his life, however, it feels wrong to punish him for being desperate and longing for companionship and understanding.

So far, Geralt didn’t quite grasp just how important he seemingly is to Jaskier but slowly, very slowly, it dawns upon him that he might feel the same. After all, it isn’t the custom to be seen as more than his reputation and what little knowledge people might have about his kind. Jaskier is… exceptional, and Geralt enjoys his company and his trust, which only holds true for a handful of people in his life.

So. He doesn’t want to lose Jaskier, and Jaskier doesn’t want to lose him.

It should be easy but it’s not.

“Are you angry?” Jaskier interrupts his train of thought.

Geralt doesn’t answer. He can still smell the blood on Jaskier’s hands, where he cut himself by stumbling over some boulders in his haste to get to him.

“I’ll accept any punishment, I promise – everything you can think of and more – but please don’t leave? You can do anything that you deem appropriate. I won’t fight it,” Jaskier assures him.

At this point Geralt thought that they are beyond begging and pleading, but he also knows that old habits die hard.

“I won’t leave,” he replies. Not like that anyway. Not like Jaskier doesn’t matter to him.

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

Jaskier takes a deep and shuddering breath. “Thank you.”

“Hmm.”

After a while of quiet riding and Roach steadily bringing them closer and closer back to the manor, Jaskier repeats his question again. “Geralt? Are you angry?”

This one is significantly harder to answer than the one about leaving.

“Not at you,” Geralt says because it’s the truth. There is an intense irritation in the depths of his heart and whenever his thoughts return to Jaskier’s father, that irritation grows into a fire fed with fury and personal injustice regarding Jaskier. To Geralt, the feeling is unsettling and soothing at the same time, and it makes protecting Jaskier easier.

“Are you angry at what I did?” Jaskier rephrases the issue.

“Hm. No.”

Yes.

But Geralt is all too aware of what Jaskier would think at that. He has to be careful, still. Always. He doesn’t want the implements back on the desk when he visits Jaskier in the evenings, or the acid scent of fear.

“But you are angry?” Jaskier wants to make sure.

“Yes. You don’t have to be scared.”

“I know.”

And Jaskier’s fingers tighten around Geralts, his skin warm and calloused and wrapped in one of Geralt’s bandages, so sincere and so brave that Geralt could get used to this gentle touch.

“Geralt?”

He makes an acknowledging sound in his throat, not trusting his voice in this moment.

“Next time you go… Can you take me with you?”

Honestly, he should say ‘no’, he should say ‘yes’, he should do more than squeeze Jaskier’s hand reassuringly and convince him without words that he will be safe, but Jaskier squeezes back and for now, it seems to be enough.


	23. Chapter 23

“Are you going to punish me?” Jaskier mumbles once they’re back at the manor, Roach idly munching on some hay and both of them in Jaskier’s room, which Geralt has grown accustomed to in the past few weeks.

Geralt grunts in response. He needs to get out of his armor, a bath would be nice and he does want to check Jaskier over for other possible wounds; there are things to talk about, there is the issue of what to do about Jaskier recklessly risking his own life in his despair, there is Jaskier’s father and the challenge of finding a way for Jaskier to get away from him… It’s so much, and fuck, Geralt doesn’t want to deal out a punishment on top of that, but he also wants Jaskier to be safe and to use his damned, definitely intelligent head.

“Yes,” he says, and it sounds exhausted as well as immensely relieved. “I will punish you.”

Jaskier nods like he already anticipated it. “How?”

Right… There’s that.

“I’ll think about it,” Geralt replies, still overwhelmed by the mess of his thoughts and the inner conflicts that Jaskier brought into his life. Surprisingly, he doesn’t mind them, not in the sense that he expected. Yes, his life had been easier before Jaskier, simpler, but he doesn’t want to miss out on his company or Jaskier’s casual little demonstrations of the bond that is growing between them: the flowers he brings Geralt, the little bits and pieces of his poems that he shares with him, his fleeting touches that Geralt appreciates more and more. Just like Jaskier, he enjoys having a… friend.

“I’ll take a bath. You should do that as well,” he instructs Jaskier who wrinkles his nose.

“Are you saying I am disgusting? Geralt! That’s not how you should treat your loyal and brave companion?”

Loyal and brave indeed, and perhaps a bit foolish. But awfully devoted and fearless, Geralt can’t argue with that.

“I’m saying you have blood on your clothes and you smell like distress. It’s not very… appealing.”

“Well, forgive me for offending your sensitive little Witcher nose.” Nevertheless, Jaskier shrugs and starts to unbutton his stained doublet, and Geralt heads towards the door.

“I’ll come back later,” he says.

Somehow, he feels the need to stay with Jaskier, to really make sure he’s not hurt, however, some distance will be more beneficial for making the right decisions, and Geralt can’t afford to fuck up their relationship once again. He needs an actual plan if Jaskier is supposed to have a life of his own that not linked to the decisions his father makes for him.

“I’ll wait. I mean, this time, I will genuinely wait for you.” At reminding them accidently of his previous actions, Jaskier looks ashamed but not regretful.

Geralt knows that he tells the truth.

He comes back hours later, cleaner, calmer and in control of his emotions - or at least in control of most of them.

As always he knocks on Jaskier’s door and Jaskier opens, wearing a new pair of breeches and a shirt, but apparently having decided against a doublet. He won’t need one anyway, not with Geralt usually taking care of the fireplace so that it steadily contributes warmth in Jaskier’s small room. They have a routine now: Jaskier presenting verses and songs to him while Geralt stokes the fire.

It’s nice. It’s familiar.

But this time Jaskier silently watches him and Geralt finds it hard to look up from the flames. The bath and meditation did their part but going through things in his mind will always be different than actually saying them.

“Are you still angry?” Jaskier finally dares to ask.

“No.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Mh.” Jaskier chews on his bottom lip. “But you will discipline me?”

Geralt raises an eyebrow. “That part isn’t negotiable.” 

“Right, yes. I know. I just- I didn’t lay out anything for you to choose from. Is that bad?”

And now Geralt notices that Jaskier’s desk is laden indeed with ink and parchment, books piled up high, his lute propped up in the only chair; a familiar sight but in this new context it makes Geralt’s heart ache.

“Not bad at all.” He stands up from where he knelt by the fireplace. “Thank you.”


	24. Chapter 24

“Thank you for what?” Jaskier wants to know and continues to stare at his desk like he’s trying to solve the riddle whether he should regret keeping the cane or the paddle away from Geralt or not.

Geralt takes a seat on Jaskier’s bed, wary to move slowly and steady to uphold the fragile atmosphere of protection and correction in the room. “For trusting me enough to let me do this.”

Jaskier laughs at that. “A part of me honestly doesn’t know why I should let a damn Witcher give me a good trashing but then again you’re _my_ Witcher and that seems like a fairly good reason.”

It’s hard to find an appropriate reply to that and Geralt hopes he doesn’t ruin it by patting his thigh. “I’ll make it quick if that’s any comfort.”

“It’s not?”

“Sorry.”

This time he makes Jaskier take down his breeches before he lays across Geralt’s lap and, as expected, Jaskier isn’t too happy about it.

“Not that I’m particularly shy about my body but I feel like this is slightly unnecessary, given the fact that I saw you literally strangle a wolf with your bare hands? If it were my decision I would be naked around you from the waist down in a completely different situation…”

And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?!

Jaskier… is far too complicated, and this isn’t the right place or time for Geralt to figure out one of his many remarks and observations. Gently, he places his hand on Jaskier’s thigh and Jaskier sighs and settles down over his knees.

“Thanks for not using the hairbrush,” he murmurs into one of the thousand pillows that have gradually reappeared on his bed.

“You won’t like this either,” Geralt says. “And next time I go on a hunt or take a contract you will stay where it’s safe and where you can’t get yourself into any danger. If something like this ever happens again, you will be in this position every evening for a week. Understood?”

“Understood.”

“Good.” The sound of the first hard slap is loud over the crackling fire and Jaskier flinches.

“Shit,” he swears quietly and Geralt waits a moment for him to relax again until he brings down another harsh strike to match the first one. A pink mark blooms on each of Jaskier’s cheeks and Jaskier breathes out some more bad words but stays still otherwise.

“Will you do it again?” Geralt asks.

“Wha- no. Fuck no, I won’t. Never.”

Geralt chooses to believe him and lightly rubs over Jaskier’s sore and stinging skin. “Then we’re done.”

“Done?”

“That’s what I said.”

“No, I know the meaning of that word, I’m aware how language works, but this is… quite unforeseen?”

Geralt hesitates to respond. His plan was to go easy on him and rely on Jaskier’s intelligence to prevent him from doing some stupid shit like that once more but now doubts start to steal into Geralt’s thoughts. Should he be stricter and make an actual impression that Jaskier won’t forget so soon?

“Do you… need more?” he asks, and it sounds ridiculous.

Thankfully, Jaskier fervently shakes his head. “Gods, no. No no no, I learned my lesson, I promise to be safe in the future.”

That’s what Geralt aspired to achieve, so he assumes they can leave this behind them. He doesn’t want Jaskier to associate this punishment with any feelings of loneliness and longing for a friend.

“You can get up,” he reminds Jaskier who still doesn’t move, but Geralt won’t push him.

“Last time was a lot worse,” Jaskier says softly and they both know he’s right. “I’m not too interested in any more of this but if it’s my choice then I’d like you to carry on? Just until I earned a hug, you know? You can stop after that.”


	25. Chapter 25

“You don’t have to earn a hug,” Geralt says, uncertain about how to proceed with this turn of events. “You can just ask for one,” he adds, in case it’s not clear.

“Yes, but then you could say no,” Jaskier replies like he’s the one explaining the obvious and not Geralt.

Instinctively and considering his past conversations with Jaskier, Geralt knows that this might develop into a full discussion. By now he thinks he grasps Jaskier’s general perception of things, his false impressions of Geralt’s mood and actions, and how that understanding was influenced by his life with his father, however, it doesn’t mean that Geralt is improving in calming and comforting Jaskier. That part of their friendship is something he has yet to fully work out.

“I could also say no to it after spanking you more,” Geralt points out.

Jaskier stays quiet for a while, seemingly contemplating that possibility, and Geralt lets him stay in that position, resting a hand on the small of Jaskier’s back. They have time to figure this out, and to make Jaskier feel safer around him.

Geralt can be patient.

“But you wouldn’t say no then. Right? If you punish me?” Jaskier finally asks and his voice is too small for it to sound confident.

“I wouldn’t,” Geralt assures him. “Neither would I say no to it now. You can just ask without having to endure more discipline.”

“Right.”

“Hmm.”

Still, Jaskier doesn’t ask, so Geralt begins to gently rub his back, occasionally going lower and tracing his fingertips over the warm skin of Jaskier’s arse. Slowly, and bit by bit, the tension in Jaskier’s limbs eases and he melts over Geralt’s lap. But he continues to be quiet, and Geralt accepts that.

At the end he doesn’t know how long they stayed like this, only that it eventually starts to feel almost like meditation, restful and soothing, when Jaskier does speak up, in that so so very careful tone of his.

“Can I have a hug?”

Geralt allows himself a tiny smile, even though he knows that Jaskier can’t see him. “Yes. Come here. Up…”

He barely has the time to help Jaskier righten his clothes before the young man throws himself at him and causes them both to sink into the soft pillows all around them on the bed. Geralt protectively closes his arms around him but Jaskier apparently neither seems to care about the state of his clothing nor about resting the majority of his body weight on Geralt.

“Thank you,” he murmurs into the nape of Geralt’s neck.

“You’re welcome.”

Geralt lets Jaskier curl up beside him, his head on Geralt’s chest, which should feel too intimate but doesn’t. It’s right and true and perfectly fitting for whatever they have in this moment, and Geralt runs his fingers through Jaskier’s hair and that also feels good and even better when Jaskier closes his eyes and hums contently.

“I shouldn’t say this but if every punishment ends like this you will never get me off your lap ever again. I might get more famous than all those fair maidens for getting myself into danger. And you can be my knight in shining armor, Geralt... I would even wear an extravagant dress.”

Geralt chuckles at the thought. “Or you could just ask me for the things you want. Sounds a lot easier, doesn’t it?”

“Only slightly,” Jaskier agrees.


	26. Chapter 26

“Can you stay?” Jaskier asks as his hand sneaks around Geralt’s waist and takes a hold of his shirt.

Vaguely amused, Geralt lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t halt the warm fingers against his side. “The whole night?”

“Mhh. Yes.”

This… is new for both of them but Geralt doesn’t see any reason to object or to refuse Jaskier that particular wish. It might actually be nice, a part of him thinks. Except for some rare occasions he spent the majority of the nights in this winter alone or next to Roach, and some company could honestly be pleasant.

“I’ll stay,” he confirms.

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispers into the fabric of his shirt.

Geralt hums in acknowledgement and listens to Jaskier’s steady breathing and the easy cracking of the fire. Outside the wind is rattling at the windows and howls like wolves, and the warmth in the little room is a stark contrast to previous days in the unforgiving cold.

After long moments of focusing on these restful surroundings, Jaskier is the first to speak.

“Take me with you? I mean it, I don’t want to stay here. I can’t.”

Geralt doesn’t respond immediately, having thought about this issue far too long before. Saying yes would be so damn easy in theory but the reality is much more complicated. He can’t know for sure how Jaskier’s father will react to Geralt taking his son away, no matter the reasons he brings forward, and fleeing without any indications might lead to the viscount tracking them which could place Jaskier in unnecessary danger.

“I was on my way to Kaer Morhen,” Geralt says, and he’s aware that he’s stalling with his answer.

“What’s that?” Jaskier wants to know, stretches like a cat in the sun and yawns.

Because it seems like a caring gesture, Geralt pets his hair. “It’s my home. And my family. I always return in winter but this time you sort of got into the way.”

“Oh.” Jaskier stills and his fingers play with the hem of Geralt’s shirt. “Sorry for that.”

“Don’t worry about it. I still have time to go, the snow isn’t that high yet. I just need to prepare for it.”

Of all the possible arrangements, this decision seems the most reasonable and sensible, and one that can also include Jaskier, since it would be cruel to leave him behind.

“You don’t want me around your family.” Jaskier nods almost unnoticeably. “That’s alright. You… you could come back in spring? My father would pay you – if he’s satisfied with your work, that is…”

“I won’t return in spring,” Geralt says and Jaskier’s wince tells him it was the wrong thing to diminish his fears. “You can come with me if we find a way for your father to agree.”

He has a plan for that, a horrible and perhaps unwise and unsuccessful plan, but Geralt can’t risk stealing Jaskier away in the night like some lovesick admirer would leave with a noble lady. It would be stupid, and now not only his life would be affected by it.

“I can come with you?” Jaskier stares at him and Geralt can clearly see the disbelief, the doubt and then the unbound joy flash over his face. “Promise it. Don’t say it when you don’t mean it.”

“I promise,” Geralt says. The words leave his tongue effortlessly.

Jaskier presses his face into Geralt’s neck and swears quietly. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, shit – ohoho, I’ll hold you to that. I won’t ever leave your side.”

“I think I can accept that,” Geralt replies, a deep and solemn, affectionate feeling spreading in his stomach and finding its way to his heart.

“I’ll write ballads about all of your many virtues. Poems. Stories,” Jaskier promises readily and his grip around Geralt’s shirt tightens. “Fuck. Thank you.”

Geralt allows himself to be happy with Jaskier before the hard part of his plan needs to be done. “Hm. My very own personal bard. What an honour.”


	27. Chapter 27

“Your son is weak,” Geralt tells Jaskier’s father a few days after promising Jaskier to take him to Kaer Morhen, and while he knows that his plan has several flaws, Geralt is prepared for the viscount not agreeing with his suggestion right away. “I need more time to work with him so that Julian can learn proper behaviour. I have to implement a different technique.”

After spending so much time with him, Jaskier’s given name tastes strange on Geralt’s tongue.

The viscount tilts his head. “Your contract isn’t bound to a certain time period but I do wonder what exactly you have in mind?”

“Another path,” Geralt replies. It’s vague enough.

Of course he could declare the contract as finished, he could threaten Jaskier’s father, he could even kill him but none of these solutions seem completely without risk which is why Geralt decided for lies, and half-lies and some truths to weave a believable story for the viscount.

From where he is seated, Jaskier’s father slightly leans forward. “And that path includes?”

“I will take Julian with me,” Geralt says. Satisfied, he realizes that it doesn’t sound like a question and more like a statement. “He is too spoiled. If you continue raising him like this, he will one day think that fruit pies just appear out of thin air around him and that conflicts should be best solved by a cheerful little melody. He’s not a real man here, he can’t be. But I will teach him. When he comes back you won’t have to worry about your estate or your inheritance anymore.”

Now, the viscount is quiet and Geralt can’t help but notice that he looks like Jaskier when he seriously considers and analyses Geralt’s words – or that Jaskier looks like him when he does it.

It’s not a good thought.

“And it is not possible for you to achieve that at the manor?” The viscount asks.

Geralt shakes his head. “No. Julian must know actual hardships in order to become a sensible man and ruler. He feels too comfortable here.”

It’s easier to say the words when Geralt thinks of Julian and Jaskier as different people rather than the same person. The lies he tells about Jaskier might as well be Julian’s truth.

“I see.” Jaskier’s father taps his chin with his fingers, a pondering gesture that Geralt has often seen Jaskier do while he sits over his verses and lyrics. “Though how will I know that you return him? You could keep him as hostage. Or do worse…”

From the beginning of their conversation Geralt has expected a question like that.

“I could,” he agrees. “But I won’t. I’m only interested in the rest of my coin and the fulfilment of the contract, not in a further undesirable development of my reputation. Surely you must know that my kind is focused on accomplishment instead of material goods.”

Besides, Geralt thinks, and is humoured for one moment, he didn’t kill Jaskier on his first day around him which appeared to be a trial in itself, so he certainly won’t do it now.

Jaskier’s father doesn’t say anything for a long while and Geralt waits, knowing that impatience would be unwise.

“You will come back in spring,” Jaskier’s father eventually orders and Geralt nods in acceptance. “So that I can view Julian’s progress and see that he is alive. I trust you to ensure my son’s safety, Witcher. Should he return missing a limb you will lose one as well. And more.”

Obediently, Geralt nods again and resists the urge to tell the viscount what he truly thinks about Jaskier and his personal growth. But he will take what he can get and it’s some time until spring. They can figure out a new plan then, with the help of Vesemir and Eskel and Lambert.

Jaskier won’t be alone anymore.

In a few clipped words, Geralt excuses himself, leaves Jaskier’s father to his documents and his books and only takes a deep breath when he closes the heavy wooden doors behind him.

Jaskier is already waiting for him in the corridor, a couple of feet ahead, but he shies away as Geralt comes closer.

“I’m not weak. Nor am I spoiled,” he tells Geralt and seems fiercer than ever before. His hands are on his hips and his glare is hot and intense.

Ah.

Shit.


	28. Chapter 28

“You know I didn’t mean it,” Geralt tries to soothe Jaskier, without much success. “We talked about this, yes? That I would tell your father some lies.”

“Yes. _Some_ lies. How the fuck am I supposed to know whether you consider me being weak and ruined as true or not?!” Jaskier replies passionately.

Well, damn. Apparently, Geralt should’ve explained his plan in more detail and not relied on Jaskier staying away from his father’s chambers.

“Because I don’t see you as that. Trust me. You’re one of the bravest people I ever met,” he says. Most likely, it will take some time until Jaskier believes him completely without doubts or suspicions but Geralt has no problem with assuring him of it over and over again.

Jaskier hesitates and crosses his arms as he stares at Geralt accusingly, and Geralt can feel the betrayal and disappointment.

His fault, of course. A lot of the misunderstandings between them are to some part his fault. 

“You are. You’re incredibly brave,” he repeats, and Jaskier’s features soften a bit.

“Don’t say that I’m weak again, not even as a joke. I just want to leave this place behind me, forever.”

Geralt nods in understanding. He certainly won’t force Jaskier to go back and he’s anxious to find an actual permanent solution for him to stay at Kaer Morhen or with Geralt himself. Sure, there will be other struggles and problems on their path together, but Jaskier’s family hopefully won’t be one of them, and Geralt can deal with the rest – perhaps by reminding Jaskier who’s in charge, too.

“How about we visit Roach?” He suggests.

Jaskier smiles slightly at that, even though he turns away from him in order to prevent Geralt from seeing it. Still, Geralt feels relieved when they walk to the stables, since he never intended to hurt Jaskier by trying to get him out of here.

He lets Jaskier brush Roach and feed her carrots for the next hour, staying in the background while Jaskier talks to her and murmurs compliments into her ears.

It’s… sort of cute, he has to admit.

“You will need a horse,” he says because there is no way that Roach can carry two riders at once, no matter how much of a liking she took to Jaskier.

Jaskier stops promising her flower crowns and necklaces to chew on and looks at Geralt. “I don’t have to walk?”

“No.” Geralt raises his eyebrows. “That would take far too much time, don’t you think?”

Jaskier only shrugs his shoulders. “Ah, I’m used to it. And occasionally it can be quite pleasurable – if you take away the cold and the wind, and there’s no one chasing you and you imagine you have never-ending stamina, and- Yeah, no, I need a horse. You’re right.”

“I’m sure your father will see the need for that as well.” Geralt chuckles. Maybe his noble is slightly spoiled indeed. “So I guess you can take one of his. Then we can leave in a couple of days if you wish?”

“Yes. Fuck yes.” Jaskier closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and opens them again. “I know which horse I will take. There’s one – I slept in his stable sometimes when my father wouldn’t let me inside at night. He’s very gentle. Very calm. Actually, he reminds me of you.” Jaskier smiles teasingly and Geralt shakes his head in amusement.

“People have told me before that I look shockingly similar to a horse.”

“I bet they have. Do you want to meet him?”

Jaskier leads him to a stable in the back where a brown gelding munches on some hay and sniffs on Jaskier’s hand when he holds it out to him. “This is Daisy. Say hello to Geralt, Daisy.”

The horse nibbles shortly on Geralt’s collar before turning back to its hay.

“Daisy, hm?” But Geralt has no objections; the gelding looks sturdy and healthy enough for their journey.

“I like his name,” Jaskier says in defence.

“Sure.” Geralt watches him pet the horse and offer him a carrot from Roach. “Flowers are always nice.”


	29. Chapter 29

In the end, it is easy to leave, or at least easier than Geralt anticipated. All throughout their preparation he’s waiting for Jaskier’s father to barge in, a few guards as support, to separate them and ensure that Jaskier will stay at the manor, but nothing like that happens, not when he asks the kitchens for food supplies or the stable master about taking Daisy.

Just like at a hunt, the waiting for the inevitable sears Geralt’s nerves though, until he continuously feels the need to be around Jaskier, lest he might be taken away from Geralt’s protection.

One eye on the door and one ear focused on the noises outside of Jaskier’s room, he vaguely listens to Jaskier’s rambling about the books he wants to take with him and nods occasionally.

“… Geralt? I asked you something, and I would appreciate an answer? Take your time, take all the time you need, I know you’re not the youngest but if you could reply within this century I would be incredibly honoured.”

“What?” Geralt turns his head towards Jaskier who is weighing a book on each hand and eyes them both thoughtfully.

“I asked you something?”

“Yeah, I got that. What was it?” Geralt doesn’t like to admit that he wasn’t listening but it would be wrong to blame Jaskier. Shit, he should be better than that, not being able to follow a simple conversation, but Geralt will be glad once they actually leave Dawnbury, when he doesn’t have to consider any more possible traps or deceptions.

“Uh, you know.” Jaskier avoids his gaze. “I just wanted to know whether I should take something particular with me?”

“No.” Geralt shakes his head. “Warm clothing. Personal items. Nothing too heavy. That’s all.”

Clearly dissatisfied with his answer, Jaskier takes a deep breath. “Let me rephrase that question: You know of the things in my closet. Shall I take any of them with us?”

Is this about his clothes? Geralt frowns. He’s had conversations with Jaskier about that before, which mostly consisted of Jaskier discussing various doublets, chemises and trousers with himself and Geralt contributing a sporadic grunt or a nod to Jaskier’s reflections.

“Just make sure you won’t be cold,” he says.

It seems like a safe answer, but Jaskier shakes his head and sighs.

“Geralt. You know exactly what I have in my closet because you saw them on my desk. Now, if you could let me know if I’m supposed to pack all of them or just a selected few – which I would obviously prefer – that would be helpful.”

Ah.

Of course, Geralt knows indeed.

“Leave them here,” he orders Jaskier.

“Are you sure-“

“I’m sure. Leave them. We won’t need them.”

At this point, he’s fairly confident that he can leave a memorable impression on Jaskier’s backside by just using his hand, and if he should really require something more severe, Geralt has an excellent leather belt that should do the trick.

“Thank you.” Jaskier’s ears are redder than before but Geralt doesn’t comment on it.

“Hmm. Don’t get yourself into trouble, yes? I can also take you over my knee when we don’t have a bed or a hairbrush.”

For some reason, Geralt doesn’t doubt that he will have to do that sooner or later anyway.

Jaskier clears his throat and makes a vague gesture with his hand, still holding a book. “First of all: I’m slowly getting used to that position and, to be honest, there are worse situations than having your hand on my bare arse. Second of all: I’m not a brute, Geralt. Of course I’m taking a hairbrush with me.”

“Right.” A smile tugs on the corner of Geralt’s lips. “Guess we’re all set then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooo, people on the internet - I've come to thank all of you for your incredible comments, kudos and general support of this fic! (Seriously, you make my day with all these small and big gestures, holy shit...)
> 
> There will be another chapter because I can't leave this story at chapter 29 (it HAS to be an even number?) and then Jaskier's time with Geralt and at Kaer Morhen will be a second part in this series. :)
> 
> Thank you again, I honestly appreciate all of your thoughts, suggestions and vague yelling so much.


	30. Chapter 30

Jaskier is a surprisingly good rider, Geralt notices after the first few miles, but he’s also aware of how quiet he is, not really chattering or commenting something that comes to his mind after seeing a particular house or plant or rock on the side of the road.

While Jaskier was anxious to leave Dawnbury, when they finally got on their horses it almost seemed like he was holding his breath until they could no longer see the manor, and then later on also the farms and the vast forest and the small streets surrounding and leading to the town.

Geralt tries to give him the space he needs, and slowly he sees the tension leave Jaskier’s shoulders, how he relaxes more and more on Daisy’s back, and he sees his smile as he pats the gelding’s neck.

“Such a good horse, aren’t you, Daisy? Fuck, I missed this. Actually being able to leave whenever I want, the freedom of riding and being your own man… Ah, Geralt. You truly gave me a gift, I can’t thank you enough.” Jaskier winks at him and Geralt is too puzzled by the gesture to answer in time, so his reply comes late and sounds awkward.

“You don’t have to thank me. You deserve a life for yourself.”

“Mhh, yes. Perhaps, I do indeed but you were the one who gave me this opportunity. I owe you.” Jaskier’s tone is too serious for him to mean it as a joke.

Geralt tilts his head. “Thanks. I suppose.”

It doesn’t change the fact that he truly wants nothing from Jaskier in return, only maybe his company and even on that he wouldn’t insist, knowing how Jaskier would interpret it.

They ride in silence for a while and Geralt likes the way Jaskier looks on a horse, like he belongs there and like the movements come naturally to him. He wonders if there’s more to him that he just hasn’t seen yet, any hidden abilities and talents that Jaskier hasn’t had the chance to show because his father prevented him from it, like the poetry and songs that Jaskier shared with Geralt bit by bit.

Time will tell, Geralt thinks, and he will be there to nurture Jaskier’s trust.

During a small break, Jaskier breaks the peaceful silence around them.

“Do you think they will like me?”

He fiddles with the girth of Daisy’s saddle but Geralt can tell how important and urgent the question is to him and he suspects that Jaskier has held back asking it for quite a while.

“Who?” He says even though he knows that answer already.

“Your family.” As if to silence any further questions, Jaskier takes a long sip from his water flask.

Geralt decides not to lie in order to prepare Jaskier for the truth. “Lambert is difficult and sort of an asshole and Vesemir is intimidating and strict. Kaer Morhen has seen better times and is nowhere near as comfortable as your home. But you come with me so… yes. They will probably like you.”

Jaskier nods and lets his eyes wonder over the horizon, the bare trees and the land that is covered in snow. His breath forms small clouds.

“It wasn’t my home,” he says and looks at Geralt. “The manor wasn’t my home. I like to think I can find a new one though, a … real one, you know?”

“Hm.” A home, a family – apparently this new life will be full of changes for all of them, good and bad, big and small, expected and unforeseen. “I’m fairly sure we can deal with a new pup in our pack, even if it mostly looks like a colourful songbird.”

“Don’t worry, I can hide that.” Jaskier climbs back into the saddle and grins.

But Geralt shakes his head no.

Not again, no more lies, no holding back or pretending to be someone else, there will be no more beatings or restrictions or insults.

“Don't. This time you don’t have to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... and there we are.
> 
> Thank you so much for everyone sticking around for this long and for reading, kudoing or commenting on this fic!
> 
> At this point I'm not sure when I will start with the second part because I still need a plot that is somehow consistent (and then there's my bachelor's thesis waiting for me in my documents) but I might add some one-shots in between if I can manage...
> 
> Special thanks go to golden_firebird for being such an inspiring companion on this journey! :)


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